Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict
by Papa John
Summary: Written in 2006, "Dig In" tells the story of a squad of regular Marines struggling to fulfill their duty in the face of death.  It tells a mature story. It tells a story no one has ever read before.
1. Chapter I

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John _

**DIG IN**

**The** **Jericho VII Conflict**

**Chapter I: "First the Food, Now This?"**

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/11/2535 0550 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**United Nations Space Command Outpost Delta Three-Four**

Private First Class Tom Waters sat playing with the mysterious mixture of food lying on his mess tray. _Not only was this the worst post in the entire galaxy_, he thought, _it was also the worst food in the entire galaxy_. Nonetheless, he would need all he could get. Even if the odd mixture of bread, cold butter, bacon and some mountainous wafer covered in dripping brown sauce didn't look to be of his taste, he scoffed it down between large gulps of hot coffee.

_Coffee_, he could always use more coffee_._ He got up, rubbed his eyes, counted the grand total of ten other heads in the lifeless grey mess hall and made his way slowly to the front counter. There he could talk to the cook, an old friend, and try to swindle a few extra rations.

Tom was an average man. He was no taller, nor shorter than any of his comrades. He was well built and sported a long cut on this right bicep. His black hair was short and scruffy and he looked as if he hadn't shaved for a few days. Even though the bags on his eyes drooped down, his eyes still twinkled as they always did. His dark eyes glinted in the dull light of the mess hall and gave him a hint of malevolence, which he lived up to with his sharp comments and wise cracks—all of which his squad mates had come to expect and enjoy.

"Tom you ole dog, come on over here! You look bright and cheery on this fine day. Don't you love the smell of rain and fresh mud? Probably not, we've had that smell for the last two weeks," roared a voice from the long brown table off to Tom's left.

Tom turned and faced the voice, distracted from the front counter and the cook. The familiar accent of his fellow squad mate, Corporal Jennings made the hairs on his neck rise as they usually did when the aging Corporal spoke. The man had a way with words, always managing to drag Tom into long conversations in his thick English accent. Tom knew something was up though; Jennings only spoke with him when he needed something. So he put down his tray on the front counter and walked up to the Corporal.

Before he could reply, his superior, Jennings whispered over to him, "Keep quiet, I'm going to let you in on some… classified information. I suggest you make good use of it. In about half an hour, the Sergeant Major is going to announce that this early start was not just for the fun of it. The Covenant has been detected in the system. We're going to engage if they land. Get your stuff together early. I want our squad ready for the Sergeant Major's announcement. Pass on the word and get yourself sorted," he said, finishing it off by crunching down into a stale piece of bread, trying to keep a straight face.

Tom looked across the mess and of course, to his luck found none of his squad-mates. He quickly bartered with the cook, a former shipmate on the way into Jericho two years ago. He ended up gaining three extra cans of coffee and a tin pot for a small price of a few odd dollars.

He left the dull mess hall and made his way across the camp to his barracks. Before he entered, he scanned the sky, expecting to see the Covenant fleet up through the dark storm clouds. He didn't. Tom sighed, knocked the mud off his boots against the door frame and entered his squad's barracks.

He found them all there. Some were playing poker with a deck of cards, others lighting up their cigarettes while humming an old Marine Corps tune. Regulations weren't enforced very much on camp. The camp was in the middle of a large forest not far from the deepest and widest valley in that hemisphere. They were between nowhere and somewhere, so the rules often got overlooked.

"I've got some bad news boys and girls. This early wake up wasn't for drill day or inspection. Grab your gear and suit up, the Covenant are coming," Tom stated, watching the enjoyment on their faces quickly disappear. The cigarettes in their hands fell to the floor.

He moved to his bunk, took off his boots, and began to dress himself appropriately. He doubled his socks and threw an extra pair in his bag. He put on his pants, then a thin layer of standard issue plating. It was a semi-bulletproof and slightly metallic material that would serve to protect his thighs and shins. He finished by zipping on his flak jacket and fastening his appropriate chest plate. He slipped on his boots again, tightening them as he went.

Grabbing his sack, he threw in the three extra cans of coffee, a few extra snack bars which he had hid under his mattress for quite some time now and a few other odd assortments of food which had previously been stored in his bunk area for safe keeping. He threw in his appropriate supplies: some bandages, the pot, a small flat pan, a sharp hunting knife and a pack of cigarettes before zipping it up. He shouldered his sack, grabbed the olive shade helmet from his bunk, then said goodbye to his fellow squad-mates and made for the centre of the camp.

_It won't be long now,_ he thought, _and at least it's not raining_. He waited a few minutes. Slowly, his squad assembled, along with members of other squads who had apparently overheard about the announcement, or had been told in the same manner as Tom, from one of his superiors.

The Sergeant Major finally arrived and stumped up a small wooden podium where he could be seen by all. Seconds later, a bell sounded and the Marines and other personnel not in attendance were rudely notified.

After waiting several moments the entire camp was now present. A motley crew of more than two hundred Marines and other UNSC personnel gathered around to hear what the Sergeant Major had to say.

"Today, there will be no drills. I don't expect to hear any cheering because thanks to the Covenant, we're going to be fighting them instead. Officers, I'll need to see you in my quarters immediately. As for the rest of you, get your stuff together. Marines be ready to travel in ten minutes, have your packs filled and your weapons loaded. Any other personnel, I ask you to arm yourselves and go back to you regular stations and await orders. I'll be around," he said, and in good time too. Just as he was finishing, the once calm and wet camp quickly became an active and wet camp.

Tom hurried to the armoury. He got in line, second from the front. He waited for a few seconds while the standard issue was handed out to the two female Marines in front of him. He made it to the front, showed the grungy arms keeper his badge on his arm and awaited his weaponry. An M6C sidearm, two clips of ammunition, two fragmentation grenades, and an MA5A assault rifle with two extra magazines.

"Hey, buddy listen it's gonna be tough out there, can't you give me anything better than this pistol? Give me something that's going to hurt these guys. Come on, I'll bring it back," Tom pleaded.

"Yea, I know what you mean. The standard issue's been outfitted with a scope but it still just isn't good for much of anything really. Here, take this M7A magnum and these cartridges. Just give me the 'C' back and we'll call it a mistake if anyone asks how you got one of these," the Gunnery Chief replied, spinning the short revolver's hefty chamber before passing it to Tom.

"Thanks. Good luck!" Tom yelled behind him, thankful to be out of the growing line.

He waited by his barracks for his squad leader, Lieutenant Jones, to return with their orders. After waiting a few minutes with the rest of his tired and blurry-eyed twelve man squad, Jones came rushing to them, drawing his pistol and eyeing the sky every chance he got.

The Lieutenant was a middle-aged man who concealed his age under layers of thick muscle. He had thick dirty blonde hair and a large scar on his left cheek. He was a no-nonsense person; he was a fierce fighter. He led his squad by example and was never in the back. He was a real leader.

"They've arrived. Our ships are engaging their fleet while we speak. We've been ordered to link up with a squad from Delta Three-Three at this location," he said, pointing to a small clear area on his map. "Right here between Apollo valley and our current location. If they're not on time, we're ordered to wait at that location until they do arrive or are reported unaccounted for. Any questions?" Jones asked, holstering his pistol.

"When do we leave?" Tom blurted out.

Before Jones could reply, above them the sky filled with hundreds of small teardrop-shaped Covenant dropships and more bulky human ones as well. The Covenant had made short work of the human defences and now the survivors were returning to the surface, imprinting the clouds with small dots, sending a continuing pattern of black and grey across the morning sky for miles.

The Sergeant Major came running up to the podium like a mad man, "Get out of here now! Get moving. Securing those life pods is vital! The entire planet is being invaded by the thousands. Our orbital defences may not hold through the day. A relief fleet is on its way but we have at least forty-eight hours before they'll arrive. So, dig in and give 'em hell!" He finished, snapped an unsightly salute and got in line for the armoury himself.

"You heard the man; time to roll out!" Jones roared in his gruff voice, shouldering his assault rifle as he began to march his way slowly towards the camp exit, followed by a single file line of twelve Marines.

Just as they reached the rectangular camp's exit, located in the far south-westerly corner of the camp, the morning turned even worse. A landing craft nosed down inside the camp. The sides of the diamond-shaped lilac craft blew open and a swarm of assorted aliens jumped out, eager for battle.

The camp lit up within seconds. The Covenant soldiers charged into the fray, attempting to gain ground on the surrounding Marines. The camp personnel continued to back off slowly, firing as they went, completely engulfing the badly outnumbered landing team.

Small aliens, nicknamed Grunts were cut down within the first seconds of combat. Rounds cut through the little creatures like Swiss cheese, bursting their methane breathing tanks and sinking deep into their flesh and armour.

As the ranks of the aliens thinned, they finally had gained enough ground to engage the Marines on even ground. The Grunts were in short number but their companions, however were not. Surrounding the entire landing team were nearly twenty birdlike creatures that each carried a small sidearm and a large round energy shield varying in colour from yellow, red and blue. These creatures had been nicknamed Jackals and with their shields, they usually offered a much better fight than their counterparts, the Grunts.

Using their shields, the Jackals had created a box around the team, protecting the remaining fighters until they could get close enough to do some real damage. Inside the small grid were the highest ranking members of the assault group and by far the most deadly; the most vicious creatures of the crew were the 'Elites'. These creatures wore suits of coloured armour, blue armour signifying a regular foot soldier and the more complex red armour signifying a veteran warrior. These 'Elites' were surrounded by energy shielding which could absorb a limited amount of damage before failing and leaving the creature vulnerable.

A single Marine lobbed in a fragmentation grenade from the balcony on the second floor of the main command room. The grenade landed on the Covenant grid's left side and blew away five Jackals, leaving their flank open and the Elites unshielded from the attack.

The Marines filled the Elites with round after round as they charged helplessly forward to their deaths. The rounds tore through shielding, armour and flesh, leaving few of the creatures, only to stand in pools of their comrades' iridescent blood.

A single gold armoured warrior had managed to enter the Marine ranks. He hacked and slashed wildly around with a glowing blue energy sword. It cut through a squad of Marines like raw meat, splattering gore everywhere. The Elite continued on his rampage ripping Marines apart until finally, his shields failed under fire and his lifeless body slumped to the ground under the weight of hundreds of assault rifle rounds.

Tom walked closer to the beast, inspecting its odd shaped mouth. The thing had large fangs and a mouth which split into four sections. The creature was much taller than any Marine, standing at a rough seven feet—or so Tom guessed. Unlike the Jackals who were near average human size or the Grunts who were just above four feet, the Elites brought fear into the heart of their opponents. They were large and vicious beasts that were also cunning and proud. They were born leaders, inspiring even the most cowardly of the Grunts to stand tall and fight it out.

Tom was happy that the thing was out of their hair now. He watched as the last few Jackals were mopped up and rejoined his squad to move out. He shouldered his assault rifle and fell in line with his fellow squad mates and discussed their latest encounter.

"Shut it and keep moving! I don't like this anymore than you do, but talking isn't going to help us any. So keep quiet and keep alert, those things could be anywhere waiting for an ambush." Tom's Corporal said, antagonizing him once again with his droning tone and his thick accent.

By midmorning the clouds had momentarily broken in favour of a glaring sun. The air became hot and the squad was forced to rest. They set up camp in a small grove of tall dark trees, completely shading them and cooling them off to a pleasant, more bearable temperature.

"How much further L-Tee?" Tom questioned, hoping to hear that they wouldn't need to go much further in the current heat.

"Not far now, we've still got a bit of a hike, about another three miles due northwest. We've got to cross open ground soon, though, so keep your eyes peeled and no goofing off—all of you," Jones said, wiping his forehead with a cloth before saying, "I kind of miss the rain now. Hopefully this doesn't keep up."

As if he was a god himself, moments after he spoke, the clouds rolled back in and poured more rain to the ground below. It beat down harder than ever and drenched the once drying ground. The dirt turned to mud again and the grass to pure slush and swamp. The trees grew heavy from the weight of the downfall and Jericho VII's oft-volatile western hemisphere was showcased at its worst again.

"Let's get a move on. This rain will cover any tracks we could leave. We've got about half a mile 'till we hit open ground and become easy targets. No stopping until we reach that point. We can't risk it in the wide open and we can't risk stopping in the woods after that, we have to keep moving. We can't let ourselves get pinned down. Now, let's move out!" The Lieutenant stated conclusively as he picked himself up off a tree stump and began to walk out in front.

"Jennings, get our six. Waters you got point. Let's move, single file, and keep sharp," he yelled, waving forward with his pistol in hand, signalling to move out.


	2. Chapter II

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Chapter II: "Welcome to Jericho VII, Enjoy Your Stay"**

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/11/2535 0700 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**Forest Northwest of Delta Three-Four**

The thickly wooded terrain slowly began to retreat behind the squad as they left the green foliage for a less inviting long open span of mud and weed-covered plains. Fog rolled in to surround them, holding visibility to only twenty metres in every direction.

The squad trundled through the mud, attempting to keep silent but their footsteps gave them away at every step. The mud consumed their feet, making the hike slower and more tedious than ever before. What had appeared to be a fairly short hike through open ground had now grown tremendously in time.

Tom kept moving; his squad was slowing down behind him and was now more than five metres back. He turned momentarily at a sound he heard coming from behind him, a gurgling noise.

On the ground and in the mud lay one of his squad mates, dead. A large plasma burn scarred his armour and had left a huge imprint on his chest. He had been shot, but from where?

Tom immediately dove down. Mud or not, he wasn't getting blown away like his pal there. Tom scanned all around him with his assault rifle but there was absolutely nothing to see. His squad did the same. None were rewarded with the sight of their hidden foe.

He crawled through the soaking mud and over to his comrade's body. He snapped off his identification tags, and pocketed them. _Damn!_ Tom thought. Private Brown had been their best sharpshooter, but now he was gone before they'd even got into combat.

"_Psst_, Graves! Where the hell's that coming from?" Tom hissed, keeping low in the mud and reeds.

"I think I saw it come from our right flank, but the fog is blocking the view. We're going to have to sit tight I think, right L-Tee?" Private Graves asked.

Graves was the comedian of the pack. He always had something to say, and was known for back talking. He was well liked throughout his squad, as they all were, and he seemed to be especially charismatic. He was of average build and slightly older than Tom, with a short buzz of light brown hair under his helmet and small unshaven patches of red and brown stubble on his chin. He had a perpetual look of fatigue but never showed it in action. Above all, he had seen more combat than anyone else in the entire squad with the exception of the Lieutenant himself.

"Stay put. We're gonna have to stay here until the enemy shows itself. We can't risk moving. Stay put, and fix bayonets," Jones ordered, rummaging through his pack and pulling out a small spindly metal spike.

The squad followed suit, attaching their sharp metallic bayonets to the nozzles of their assault rifles. Tom couldn't remember ever using them before but, if things were going to get close, this would make for an added surprise at close range that even energy shielding wouldn't be able to stop.

Seconds ticked by, then minutes, and then, finally, an entire hour passed them. The mud had now seeped through the layers of clothing Tom had put on just hours ago. He was wet, pinned down, and hiding from an invisible enemy. Not exactly his thought of a vacation.

Finally, something caught Tom's eye. A small glint through the fog passed in front of him. He blinked twice and quickly rubbed his eyes but, already, it was gone. It had been as if the fog itself had been momentarily rippled. As odd as it was, Tom was supposed to be watching their perimeter, so he paid it no attention.

In a matter of seconds their position lit up into a blue flurry. Graves was on one knee, holding his rifle out as far as it could go, pushing his bayonet through the chest of an Elite. It stood sputtering blood as life rapidly faded from its body. It shot blue bolts of plasma in random directions with its plasma rifle, unable to aim properly in its desperation.

More Elites appeared from thin air, opening fire upon the Marines. The fog quickly turned into Elites as they came from every direction and seemed to just appear. They had been using some sort of camouflage which allowed them to become 'invisible' or to blend in almost wholly with the form and colour of their background.

Tom forced himself up and hacked out at a nearby Elite with his assault rifle. He cut through its throat, puncturing its lungs and killing it instantly. He turned to his left only to be faced with another foe. He squeezed the trigger and filled the creature with rounds of burning hot lead. Blue gore poured from the creature's stomach as it lurched over and fell to the ground in front of him.

Within seconds, more Elites were on him. He stabbed at the first one, missing once but making contact the second time. His assault rifle became lodged in the Elite's armour and Tom became defenceless. He whipped out his sidearm and blew three rounds through the creature's skull. Shield or no shield, at that range and with a magnum of that calibre nothing could survive.

Tom spun around only to be met with another Elite. The creature dove upon him, forcing him back into the mud. They rolled around in the weeds as the Elite attempted to get a grasp upon Tom's neck and succeeded.

Huge claws held Tom in a chokehold as the air in his lungs quickly disappeared. He gurgled and gasped for a breath but was unable to take it in. The powerful creature now stood, holding Tom's helpless body nearly a foot above the ground, while squeezing the very life out of it.

Tom's eyes began to glaze over and his senses began to fade out. Darkness shrouded his eyes and his arms and legs became limp. The darkness had almost won; he could feel his very lungs being crushed by the brutish creature's menacing grip. His thoughts slowly died away and the only thing crossing his mind was that his magnum was still hanging in his right hand.

-_**BAM- **_A single round tore through the Elite's mid section. Tom fell from its grasp and back into the soaking mud. His magnum fell from his hand and his finger slipped from its trigger. Darkness completely surrounded him. His senses faded out.

The fighting continued on for nearly twenty minutes. Elites continued to push forward, breaking the ranks of the squad only to be stabbed back again with bayonets and assault rifle bursts. The squad had begun to dwindle and their chance for escape had now been completely robbed, they were outgunned, outnumbered and outwitted. They needed a plan.

"Down, everyone down! We're gonna play a little possum. Get ready and when the moment comes, we'll catch these bastards the same way they did to us," the Lieutenant said, coming up with an idea to counter the Elites.

The remainder of the once twelve man squad all hit the ground, spreading out in the mud. They began to play dead, keeping silent and still. They would wait for the moment the Elites entered their ranks, then spring up and finish them off while they were all in attendance.

Streams of aqua plasma bolts filled the fog above and around them as the cobalt armoured creatures became curious. Slowly they entered the small groove where among the mud and reeds twelve Marine bodies lay still. In a triumphant act, the creatures deactivated their shields.

"_Hmph. Wort!_" An Elite snorted, scratching its skull and placing a large foot paw upon the back of the dead Private Brown.

An entire platoon of Elites entered the area through the fog. They came from every direction and were all walking with pride as they believed themselves the victors of this fight. Unfair or not, they still believed it to be a victory. Their pride would be their undoing.

They piled in unaware of the trap and staring at the human bodies with a burning hatred. Many knelt, other stood as they conversed in their native tongue. Some had begun to rummage through the squad's supplies but they found little of use for themselves.

Then, the moment came. A single red armoured Elite addressed the entire unit. He began to speak, perhaps about the fight and their next orders. His voice was stern and he commanded the attention of every other Elite in the unit.

As his speech came to a close, a single battle cry came from one of the 'dead' Marines. "_Now!_" It screamed, as the bodies became full of life once again. Eight bodies rose up and lashed out with their bayonets taking down an equal amount of unshielded foes.

The squad opened fire upon the unsuspecting Elites. They tore through them with heavy bursts, cutting their numbers down to an equal amount and levelling the playing field. Rounds exploded through raw flesh as the unshielded foes were slaughtered without even a chance to fight back. Their backs had been turned and their shields deactivated, now it was the Elites who were fighting for their lives.

The veteran and commanding red Elite activated his shield and charged towards the Lieutenant. A Marine ran between the Elite and the Lieutenant and received a burst of plasma fire for it. The blue plasma burned through his armour and killed him instantly.

The Lieutenant shouldered his assault rifle and brought it up against his cheek. He stared down the barrel and looked through the crosshairs at his charging foe. He waited momentarily, sucking in some air and firming his handle upon the weapon. The Elite was now within a few feet of the Lieutenant and was preparing to smash him down with his claw when two staccato bursts blew through shield and skull, sending the creature's corpse tumbling backwards into the brown weed-strewn mud.

The Elites scattered as they were being finished off. Their leader was defeated and they were losing. They began to retreat back towards the fog where they could hide but were rejected the opportunity. Assault rifles rattled and clanked as the retreating enemies were cut up into minced meat under the fire of hundreds of automatic rounds.

"Take a breather. Check the dead, grab their tags. We move in five," Jones ordered, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and grabbing a bottle of water from his pack.

The Lieutenant drained back some water and looked around at the devastated squad. They'd come with twelve, now seven remained. Then something caught his eye. One of the corpses was moving slightly. He ran over to check who it was.

"Jesus, Tom! Are you alright? Wait, don't answer that," the Lieutenant said, staring into the glazed eyes of Private Waters.

After a few minutes, Tom was on his feet. He was panting like a dog and gasping for air. He could barely stand but had regained his sight from death's grasp. Tom straightened his back and lumped back in line with the rest of the squad, ready to move out. _It'd take more than that to keep this leatherneck down! _Tom thought angrily, as he trundled on through the mud and gloom of Jericho VII.


	3. Chapter III

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Chapter III: "A Walk in the Woods" **

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/11/2535 0845 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**Plains Northwest of Delta Three-Four**

The fog tediously retreated in front of the squad as the shelter of the forest loomed in upon them. The plains dragged on behind the squad as they entered the forest once again, happy to be back under shelter.

"Whew. That was a close one. I say, next time, we take the bus. This whole walking thing just isn't working for me," Graves stated, among multiple laughs and snickers from the rest of the squad.

"Shut it. You can talk when we get to the rendezvous point, until then keep quiet," Lieutenant Jones said, becoming frustrated with Graves.

As the squad continued on, the forest seemed to get thicker. The trees grew taller, and darker, with more leaves and branches seeming to sprout out of each one. The soil was soaked, the water only being displaced by roots and grass. A forest turned marshland.

From a distance a loud roar could be heard - a monotonous tone. It was buzzing louder and louder the closer it became. As the sound approached through the muddled darkness of the forest, the sound became more varied. It now included the odd squeak and a few clanks.

"Stay cool, I think it's one of ours. Take cover behind the trees and we'll find out," Jones ordered, jumping behind a particularly thick tree and kneeling, waiting to see what was coming in their direction.

Cracking, like lightning on cold steel, filled the air. It was followed by a few pops and an almost atomic bang. The Lieutenant jumped out of hiding with his weapon at the ready to see what the noise had been.

Overturned and badly damaged lay a Light Reconnaissance Vehicle, in common terms, a _Bronco_. The small vehicle had three seats, one for a driver, one for a passenger and another in the back. The vehicle was on fire and suffered from heavy plasma burns which had corroded and diluted the dark green armour plating on its two doors.

Lying around the smoking vehicle were three Marine bodies. They all twitched and moaned as they struggled to get up after their crash. One, a tall and lanky marine, managed to pull himself up. Leaning precariously, Graves ran to his side and helped him towards the Lieutenant.

"Jesus, where'd you guys come from?" Jones demanded.

"United Nations Space Command Camp Delta Three – Five, Sir. We were running Sergeant Dawkins here over to Delta Three-Three in the valley when we were attacked. We had to make a run for it, and then this happened," the Private stated, pointing to the overturned Warthog, then the body of Sergeant Dawkins as he fixed a patch on his right arm which read 'Pvt. Connors'.

"O'Brian, see what you can do for the other two. We'll rest here for ten then we have to move. It looks like this party just got bigger. Salvage your gear from that LRV, and be ready to move, we've got a meeting with another squad and we can't be late," Jones ordered.

Private O'Brian stood at an even five feet and nine inches. His hair was as dark as a raven's feather and his skin was quite the opposite. He wore a small pair of glasses which just covered his eyes. James O'Brian was known as the squad's best medic and also as the largest worry around. He was small and usually timid around new situations but his work as a medic was unmatched by anyone else in the squad, making him a huge asset.

As O'Brian approached the overturned vehicle, the rain began to pour down at an increased rate. Like a typhoon on steroids, water flashed down to the ground to quickly douse the fires of the LRV. The trees and ground were soon given yet another large soaking.

The rain splattered against the face of Sergeant Dawkins. She tossed and turned but seemed too fatigued to get up. Her chest pained and her head throbbed with a constant drumming in her ears.

"Are you alright?" O'Brian asked, staring into her dark green eyes as they stared back.

"My…back," she spluttered, as rain entered her mouth with each word.

"Right, here I'll get you up." O'Brian said, putting her arm over his shoulder and dragging her up with his own. He brought her over to a tree and leaned her body against it, then stated, "Hold on, I'll be back."

O'Brian ran back to the vehicle. He began to question the other Marine, a Corporal, who had managed to sit himself up against the torched vehicle. O'Brian administered him a small dosage of pain relievers from a needle and then returned to the Sergeant.

"Sit still, this will only take a second" He said, injecting her arm with a transparent liquid. "There, you should be alright. Just watch yourself and the moment that stuff starts to wear off, tell me."

"Fine." She said through gritted teeth while she brushed away a strand of her smooth black hair from in front of her eyes. She then grasped onto the tree and managed to get herself up again. She retrieved her pack and weapon from the wreckage and went to consult the Lieutenant.

"So, you're in charge I guess?" She said briskly, through the pain.

"Yes, missy I am," the Lieutenant replied, checking a map and paying little to no attention to the Sergeant.

"I'm no _missy_, I'm Sergeant Dawkins. It'd be better if you remembered that." Hissing, she left the Lieutenant standing in awe.

"Well, that missy certainly has style," he laughed.

As the troop moved on further into the forest, the haze had begun to do the same also. Visibility was now even worse that it had been only twenty minutes ago when they had met their new guests. The squad was forced into walking double file in order to keep everyone within sight range.

"First shuttle off this place, I'm on it," Graves said, complaining yet again. "I'd rather take on one of those Elites up close again than have to keep on walking through this crap!" He said, smiling and pointing to his boot which was completely covered in squelching brown mud.

"Be careful what you wish for," Sergeant Dawkins whispered. Apparently, she was not at all amused by Private Graves or his complaints.

"Well, I hope the mud tastes better than breakfast did," Corporal Jennings laughed, adding in his two cents on the situation with his thick accent.

"Alright, enough chatter. We rest here. Five minutes is all I'll give. Don't move from this area. Who knows what the hell's out there," Jones said, scanning around at the fog which had formed a box around their position.

Tom took a seat upon a downed tree trunk and opened up his pack. He grabbed a bottle of water and began to take a sip. He had gulped back half of the bottle before he even knew it. He hadn't had this much exercise for quite awhile and the strain was showing. His close encounter with the gloomy underworld hadn't helped either.

Tom put back his water into the sack and began to search through the pack again. He rummaged around inside and came out with his pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and rested it upon his lips as the rummaged through one of his pockets with his right hand looking for his lighter.

His squad mate Private Evans took a seat next to him on the drenched log and pulled out his lighter. "Trade a light for a smoke?" Evans asked, lighting Tom's cigarette and saving him the trouble of searching for his lighter.

"Sure" Tom replied, holding out his left hand with the pack of cigarettes in it.

"Thanks, I don't remember the last time I've walked so much and after that encounter I could use something to calm my nerves." Evans replied.

Private Evans had come to Jericho VII on the same shuttle as Tom. He'd seen him around the mess during the trip but didn't really get to know him until they were assigned the same squad. Will Evans was a basic man. He stood an even six feet and had scruffy red hair. He was well liked throughout the ranks and was known to be a gambler and a card shark with a stern poker face.

"I don't know what was better, the long days of rain sitting in the mess hall and the barracks or the long _day_ of rain, fighting the enemy. In some ways, I find that actually doing something seems better than sitting around all day robbing people of their money in two-bit games of poker," Evans said, staring off into the distance, obviously pondering over his prized possession, his deck of cards.

"Easy for you to say, some of us actually lose money to you. I don't know how you do it, but you always come out richer than before we started, no matter what the game is." Tom stated, with a grin spreading across his face.

The Lieutenant began to show Corporal Fox and Pvt. Williams the map. Williams nodded and went towards Tom to discuss their formation for the rest of the hike while Fox went to the others and told them himself. Private Williams whipped back her wet brown hair and told Tom and Evans that they'd be moving in double file for the rest of the trip.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, it's time to move," the Lieutenant yelled.

"I ain't your lady" Dawkins hissed roughly but it went unheard under the heavy downpour.

The rain continued to poor down, drenching through their packs, their uniforms and as Graves thought, through their skin also. The downpour seemed like it would continue on forever, damning them to death by drowning or maybe the mud would eventually overtake them.

"We can't be far now, can we L-Tee?" Corporal Parsons asked, rubbing his blonde eyebrows with the back of his right hand.

Corporal Ken Parsons had been recently been transferred to Jericho VII. He had spent months on Reach before he grew tired of it and chose to be transferred off-world. However, Jericho VII was even less of his type of planet.

Parsons was a strong-willed man, who had an uncanny ability to lead in combat. Not noted for intellect, he did have both courage and strength. His body showed the latter. He stood at six feet and one inch and was well built. He had bulging biceps and looked as strong as an ox.

"Too bad our LRV didn't make it through, that thing would make this trip a lot shorter." Parsons stated, reliving his crash through his mind. He had been helpless when they crashed, he hated that feeling but there was nothing he could do while riding in the back of the vehicle to help.

"Easy for you to say, I had the pleasure of driving that bucket. I don't even know what held it together that long. We took a bunch of shots from those Covenant landing teams," Private Connors replied, looking off into the distance and picturing the crash in his mind once more.

"Your brilliant driving didn't help that any." Dawkins laughed, staying cool, as always.

"Children, keep it down" Jones whispered back. "We're close now. Keep quiet and listen for any movement" He ordered quietly, scanning what little terrain was visible.

Jones pulled a compass from his pocket and checked their location on the map. He then concluded that they were only a short distance southeast of where they needed to be.

They continued to trek onward to the northwest, watching over their shoulders as they went. They were becoming wary to the point of paranoia. The rain had slowed to a drizzle but the fog held visibility to only five metres. An ambush would be very hard to detect in these conditions.

The Lieutenant threw up his hand to signal a halt. They were standing in a small grove of fallen trees. The fallen trees made an almost perfect circle in the middle of the fully foliaged forest. It was as if a small pinprick had been poked into the forest where this grove was, as only a few trees remained standing and the others were down.

Jones walked into the centre of the grove and rested his back against one of the still-standing trees. He scratched the back of his head and took a look at their rendezvous point which had only a little more room than needed for the size of their squad to all get comfortable and be able to relax.

Jones sighed, dropped his pack, and pocketed the map. "Well, this should be the place. Take a breather. It looks like we got here first."


	4. Chapter IV

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Chapter IV: "Tea for Two"**

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/11/2535 1107 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**Rendezvous Point – Grove: Southeast of Delta Three-Three**

"Where could they be?" Graves asked loudly. "We've been here for more than half an hour. Something isn't right."

"I'm beginning to think the same thing" Corporal Fox said in his stern voice.

Corporal Fox was also fairly new to Jericho VII. He'd just been transferred after working to train new meat onboard a ship near the Outer Colonies. It had been dull work, so he was glad to be off the ship. Now he could smell fresh air. Even as diluted as it was on this planet, it beat being on a ship.

Corporal Gordon Fox was fairly short for a man of his strength. He was five feet and ten inches but was built like a tank. He had large biceps, and was an inspiration to even the most backbone lacking Marines. He had blue eyes and blonde hair and could have passed for a Marine poster boy.

"Lieutenant, do you think we should move out and try to find them?" O'Brian asked curiously, growing tired of this gloomy grove.

"I'm trying to contact the Sergeant Major. The entire network is a mess. I can't reach anyone. We'll have to stay put for now," Jones stated, wiping his brow with the back of his left hand.

"Anyone up for a game?" Evans asked, seeing this lull in the action as a potential opportunity to make some winnings.

The entire squad roared a resonating 'no'. They knew that their belongings weren't safe while playing with Evans. He always won. He was as good of card player as anyone could be and he knew every trick in the book, and then some.

"I'll play you," Dawkins stated sternly, sitting down upon the same log as Evans. "Let's see what you got."

"Alright then, what would you like to play miss…"He was cut off.

"It's Dawkins! You can call me Dawkins. I'd like to play blackjack, you know how?" She asked.

"Yea… yea, I do," Will replied. "Let's play."

He shuffled the deck with an amazing speed and began to deal. He passed her two cards, one up and the other face-down. Facing up was a nine; she glanced at the one which was face-down, a nine also.

"Best two of three. The prize, if you win, is bragging rights and if I win, a kiss from such a fair lady such as yourself. Does that sound fair?" Evans demanded, looking at her deep green eyes; a truly lustrous beauty, for a Marine that is.

"Fine, but you won't win." She replied coolly.

As the game went on, Evans won the first time. He had drawn himself a nine and a ten which had been enough to beat Dawkins's eighteen. During the second game, Dawkins had won. She managed to get twenty-one and just topped Evans' twenty.

"So, it comes down to this doesn't it sweets?" Evans laughed, getting ready for his prize. He was going to enjoy this.

As he drew the cards, things began to play to his advantage. He had a five showing, and a ten face-down. She had a nine showing, and a three face-down. He was up three.

"Hit me." She said, as Evans passed her an extra card. She glanced at it, smirked, and placed it down upon the log, it was another nine. She had twenty-one.

Evans drew a card for himself, took a look and placed it down. He placed the six down upon the log with a grin which spread from one side of his face to the other. He had twenty-one, also.

They flipped their remaining cards and were shocked when the tie became evident. The entire squad gathered around in awe. A tie, against Evans, Dawkins had done the impossible. She didn't win but neither had he and that was good enough for them.

"Delta Three-Four?" A voice suddenly whispered from behind the fog.

"Who's there?" Jones asked warily, flashing his weapon in the direction of the noise.

The entire squad began to pack up and grabbed their arms. Everyone went from a state of relaxation to being back on their toes again. The fun was over, now things had gotten serious.

A shadow emerged in the fog. It broke the mist and entered the grove. "Sgt. Macy, reporting. I'm looking for a missing squad. You haven't seen them around anywhere have you?" The man asked jokingly.

"Are you from Delta Three-Three?" Graves blurted out.

"Yes, I am. So I'll assume that this is the Rendezvous Point and that you're the squad from Three-Four. You guys look like you've been through hell and back but it could just be the weather," he laughed. It came out as more of a sigh.

"What happened to your squad Sergeant?" Jones demanded sternly.

"I don't know. I was on point. We were somewhere northwest of here; we'd just left the valley when we got attacked from both flanks. The bastards cut through us in an instant. One moment we were crossing some plains with low visibility and the next we were being swamped by hidden foes. They appeared out of thin air! They broke our ranks and we had to make a run for the forest and shelter. We scattered and planned to regroup but we never did. I don't know how many, if any, are still alive but I know that Delta Three-Three is going to be in big trouble, real soon," the Sergeant told the squad, rubbing his dark amber hair furiously.

"Alright then, grab your weapon and fall in with the rest. I'm going to try to contact someone on the COM channels and see what the hell's going on," the Lieutenant told Macy.

"All I've got left is a sidearm. Some mean blue son-of-a-bitch took my real ordinance," Macy commented, sliding a fresh clip into his M6C.

Minutes passed on but still no luck on the COM channels. Jones continued to change frequencies and tried focusing on certain camps but was still unsuccessful. He could only assume that the camps were either destroyed or that the COM channels had bugged out.

Finally, his COM burst with static in his ear. A voice cried out, searching if anyone was able to hear it. Jones replied quickly, "I read you, where are you?"

The voice answered: "This is Camp Delta Three-Three. We're under attack from an enemy force. They're penetrating our defences. We need reinforcements now. Can you help?" The voice began to plead incoherently into the COM for help.

"We're from Delta Three-Four, we can't reach them. Most of the COM channels are jammed. Can you patch me through to Three-Four? I need to speak with the Sergeant Major immediately." Jones asked with desperation.

"One second. Hurry, we don't have much-" The voice screamed in pain through the COM.

Silence. The voice was gone. The COM rang in the Lieutenant's helmet as another, more familiar voice came on. "This is Delta Three-Four, Jones is that you?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major, it is. We've made it to the Rendezvous but the other squad wasn't so fortunate. We have one of their survivors, plus three others from Three-Five which we picked up during our voyage. We lost four during combat though. How are you hanging in?" Jones asked.

"We're fine. Those bastards haven't had the balls to try us again since you left. Unfortunately, they will soon. Even through the fog, we can make out their shapes. They've got us completely surrounded and badly outnumbered. We can hold them off though. The walls will serve as good protection. Unlike Delta Three-Three our walls are stone, so they'll hold," the Sergeant Major said, relieving the Lieutenant of his worries.

"Our orders, sir?" Jones asked curiously.

"Save those poor Marines over at Three-Three. Be quick about it too. They won't have long. Contact me again from there, over and out." The Sergeant Major's voice disappeared.

"So, what does he have us doing now? Hopefully it's something better than walking," laughed Graves.

"Yea, _running!_" the Lieutenant shot back at him. "Double file, double pace. We've got a camp to save. Get moving! Jennings, Dawkins you got point. Waters, Graves you two can pull up the rear! Let's move, move, move!" Jones roared.

The squad jogged out of the grove, moving now at double the speed they had before. No fog, rain or mud was going to stop them from reaching camp Delta Three-Three. Neither was any Covenant.

Tom and Graves followed in behind the pack, shouldering their weapons and following at a somewhat slower pace. _They'd catch up but they didn't need to do it yet_, Tom thought.

"Lovely weather for a jog in the woods isn't it?" Graves whispered to Tom.

"Always the best for us, isn't it? I don't know what was worse, the trip here on a large over-crowded cruiser or the days spent here in the gloom twiddling my thumbs. Not much choice though when it comes to the climate, well unless you're one of the lucky ones living it up in paradise. 'Guess I got the wrong hemisphere. It'd be alright if the pay was a little better though," said Tom.

"Yeah, it would. It's not the pay I'm worried about. It's living through this to use that money, that's what I'm worried about," Graves laughed.

Tom hurried to catch up behind the squad, pushing down deep imprints into the slush of the forest floor. They were all washed away within seconds from the deep pounding rain. No traces that the squad had ever been through the area were left behind.

Tom trundled on through the fog and rain, leaving the elements behind as pure adrenaline started to pump through his veins. _No matter what happened, they'd get to Delta Three-Three. No matter what happened, he'd get through this day alive._


	5. Chapter V

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Chapter V: "To Grandma's House We Go…"**

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/11/2535 1146 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**Outside Apollo Valley – South of Delta Three-Three**

"Three-Three should be just over this ridge," Jones said. "Stick close, eyes up. Waters, Graves, you keep our six. O'Brian, you got point. Dawkins and Fox, watch our flanks."

The squad mounted the small hill only to see devastation. Camp Delta Three-Three was just visible through the fog, the billowing smoke and ferocious flames setting it apart from the normal grey. The squad was still at least three-hundred metres off and it was open ground between them and the camp.

"This is where the first ambush happened. We got hit within a few minutes of leaving the camp. I'm not surprised that the camp bit it, there had to be a couple hundred of them, mostly Elites too," Macy stated eerily.

"Something's up; intuition speaking here. The Covenant are barbarians but why send hundreds of Elites to overrun a couple of squads and a shabby outpost? It doesn't add up." Jones pondered, "Tremblant keep trying to reach Three-Four. I want to know _exactly_ what's in this valley."

Dawkins piped up, "If what you're saying is right, we should be able to waltz into Three-Three without any hitch. I'll take point."

"Hold on there. Tremblant, keep trying Three-Four; Graves and Evans, stick with Tremblant in the rear. As for the rest of you apes, let's move," the Lieutenant ordered.

Lance Corporal Tremblant was a meagre man. Nearing six feet, he was not very muscular and wore basic glasses. He was of French descent and had spent most of his military career in Côté D'Azur. He had been a recruitment officer until his request for a transfer came through. Like the others, Jericho VII's western hemisphere was not what he had had in mind.

The squad moved at a fair pace, crossing the open ground with haste. Metre after metre, the flames of Delta Three-Three approached. Finally, the squad was within range of visibility, not that they wanted to be; the camp was in complete ruin. Bodies had been hacked, ripped and spread around, walls had been smashed and every square inch was ablaze.

"Dawkins, Fox – scout it out," Jones hissed.

"Sir, Three-Four connected. The Sergeant Major is waiting," Tremblant huffed.

"Patch me in," Jones clasped his hand to his ear, "Sergeant Major?"

"Jones, this better be important. I need a status report on Three-Three ASAP. We can't hold on much longer here and I need to know where I can fallback to, if anywhere."

"Sir, Three-Three is down; we're checking for survivors now. Situation is FUBAR. No signs of Covenant in the vicinity though. Whatever they're after here, Three-Three was in their way."

The Sergeant Major sighed, "Most personnel aren't able to enter the valley but that's where the Covenant are headed. I doubt you'll find any security to stop you. I'll upload the current codes for when you reach the valley's base."

"What exactly is in this valley?" Jones asked.

"ONI. They've got a testing facility. They're tracking some new armour or something. Get there and close down the shop. Give them time to transmit then trash the place. I don't want the Covenant touching those prototypes and I certainly don't want them getting those files. Good luck," the Sergeant Major's voice was drowned in static and repeated staccato bursts.

Sergeant Dawkins and Private Evans returned back to the squad. Dawkins made her report. "Sir, no living found, just a lot of dead bodies. It seems the Covenant hit the place on the move; my bet is that they've gone down into the valley, guessing from the amount of displaced dirt and mud stretching out from the back of the outpost."

"You've assumed correctly. The Sergeant Major gave us what sounds like his last orders. We've got to get to the base of the valley. There, we'll find an ONI communications centre. We've got to get there and keep the Covenant at bay long enough to trash the place. What happens after that is anyone's guess but it's everything or nothing right here, right now. Let's move," Jones ordered, with every set of eyes in the squad on him.

"This is some pretty serious shit," Graves cracked.

"Yes. Yes, son, it is."

"Clear!" Dawkins called out, scanning down the ridgeline of the valley. The Covenant had been there. From the masses of blue and grey scattered bodies, they had apparently not been successful.

"Alright, let's move. The Covenant will be back. We've got to get down this slope. It's only a matter of time before those bastards return," Jones said.

"L-Tee, you hear that?" Graves hissed from the back. "_Screamers_, flying in low I'd take it."

"Hit the dirt. We've got aerial coming this way," Jones sounded off. "Keep low and keep moving. The last thing we want is a squadron of Banshees flying up our asses."

Two Banshee fliers spotted the squad. Out in the open, they were easy prey. The craft swooped down upon the squad's position. Plasma canons lit up as they came level with the squad, their menacing forms moving swiftly across the skyline. The duo let fly with a salvo of blue death, tracing the ground in attempt to find a target.

Private Connors had been slow to react. Two steaming bolts splashed across his chest. One met head-on with his armour, only knocking him off balance. The second bolt, however, had been fatal. It incinerated his skin upon impact, charring organs and flesh. Jennings dove at him to keep him down; he was late and got a shot in the leg for it.

"They've got my leg! Wankers…" the Corporal yelled as he fell to the ground, continuing to move slowly down the slope of the valley on his chest. Above, one Banshee exploded into a super-heated molten mess as the second made evasive manoeuvres.

"What the hell was that?" Grave cried out, covering his head with his arms. Debris fell rampant from the sky as the second Banshee was shredded upon impact. A crimson beam of light had traced the flier and downed it instantly. Whatever it had been, it had ripped through the flier's heavy metal alloy. The pilot didn't stand a chance.

Evans coughed, "Whatever it is, it's on our side. I'd wager it's coming from below us."

"Always a betting man; I'd say you're right. Break ranks, full pace, we've got to get off this slope. Dawkins check on Connors. Waters, Graves grab the Corporal! Move, move!" Jones jumped up, beckoned to his squad forward, and made a sprint down the valley's steep slope and out across a small plain towards the ONI complex.

Dawkins took a long glance at Connors. She pulled off his identification tags and followed the Lieutenant. Remorse coursed through her veins as wind blew by her ears. Connors had survived their crash but had been taken by surprise. As a Marine, there were no guarantees.

Lieutenant Jones reached the complex first. He jumped over a barrier and scanned his surroundings. Not to his surprise, the complex was deserted. He spotted a M247 turret along the camp's barriers and strapped himself in. The rest of the squad fell in quickly but Graves and Waters would need cover.

Jennings was not a light man by any means. Even with two squad mates helping him along it was slow work. The three had just made it out onto the plains when the familiar screech of Covenant Banshees was heard. This was more than the mere patrol that they'd encountered before hand, this was an entire flotilla.

"When this is all over, you're going to lose some weight," said Graves. He checked back over his shoulder. Through the ceiling of fog over the valley, he could just make out a horrid horde of looming figures. "Banshees."

"This is the scene in all the vids where the heroes die saving a fallen comrade," Tom muttered. "I always hated those vids."

"Waters, tell me about it. Now can we get a move on? I've already lost my leg; I'd prefer to keep the rest of me, thank you," sassed Jennings. Anxiety was biting at him.

Automatic rounds shook the heavens above as the squad's cover fire riddled the incoming Covenant fliers with lead. Flashes of plasma scalded the ground behind Tom as he fought for every inch. "Let's just say you're gonna owe us one after this." Tom coughed out, as a blue streak slashed by his left ear.

Jennings stepped down hard on his charred right leg. It gave out under the strain and he toppled over onto Graves. "Jesus…" Graves cried out. A bullet-riddled Banshee came down hard over the heads of the fallen squad mates and hammered into the soil. "…Thank you."

Tom heaved himself up and dragged Jennings with him. Graves recovered and, with a renewed sense of urgency, they pushed forward. They juked past the downed Banshee and made a break for the complex. The roar of a Jones's turret inspired a homely feeling in Tom. Dawkins and Parsons rushed out to help them with the last few metres.

As Jennings was lifted over the barrier, Jones let the turret cool down. The fliers diverted course and flew off, utterly defeated. "Seven kills – not bad," the Lieutenant laughed, wiping his brow.

O'Brian took to Jennings quickly. He sat him upright against the concrete barrier and sorted through his kit. Jones and Tremblant tried the COM channels as Jennings looked past them to the rectangular concrete bunker in the middle of the complex. A dark titanium door slid open and the injured Corporal couldn't help but laugh. "Well, what do we have here?"


	6. Chapter VI

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Chapter VI: "Back in Black"**

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/11/2535 1205 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**ONI Research and Maintenance Facility, Apollo Valley**

[02/11/2535 1100 Hours

Office of Naval Intelligence

Research and Maintenance Facility V72

INNITIATE LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL B-44]

"Shit. We've got a B-44 on our hands. Things have really escalated...smoke?" Chief Technician Thompson said, scratching at his pocket for his cigarettes.

"Nah, I'm good. Besides, we've got work to do. We'll have to dump some of this data to our personal banks and hoof it. There's no way we'll get it transferred in time. Just look at this mess. Outpost Three-Three is done for and Three-Five is already toast. Almost makes you wish we weren't so undermanned, those bastards will be knocking soon," said Lieutenant Hawkins.

Hawkins was in charge of this cellular-crew. Two people left in charge of an entire bunker full of loose documents and buzzing modules all brimming with military intelligence and test results. _A clever move by the brass_, Hawkins thought. In reality though, he liked the independence. He enjoyed being in control because if he were on the battlefield, his short and thin build would keep him out of it.

Chief Technician Thompson on the other hand was in the war for the glory. The faster it was done with, the faster he could make it to an outer colony and he'd be set. Colonies would be dying for technicians and he saw a golden future ahead of him. As long as he survived. Thompson was balding but he covered it with a dirty and worn grey cap. He had a rough beard growing over his dark brown face. He was all around brutish and his temperament with superior officers kept him out of any important post. He didn't mind.

"Key files set for upload; it'll take half a day before we're done here though. I'm going for a smoke. I might just boot up a turret for the hell of it. With the cavalry gone at Three-Three, we're defenceless. You may want to join me," Thompson shrugged, getting up from his chair, pushing himself up against his cluttered desk and making for the door.

"I doubt anyone else is coming this way. I think I just might come along."

"Welcome to our humble abode! Make yourself at home," Hawkins said, throwing himself down onto his roller chair. He beckoned to Lieutenant Jones with one hand while furiously tapping away at a keyboard with another.

"How long 'till it's done?" Jones asked, looking around.

"Easy now, we're going to be here at least until sundown. We're talking terabytes of data here," replied Hawkins. He stretched out and put his feet up on his desk.

"What's the point of this place? It seems like a lot of trouble just for some modules; can't we sort them for hard transfer?" Jones asked.

"We were tracking test results. That laser we used to bring down those fliers, it's new. The Galilean Nonlinear Rifle they call it. It's a hell of a name, but it still has some bugs. We're waiting for someone to fix it; that's where these test results come in handy. We've also been tracking a potential armour variant for those kids in the tin cans, the Spartans. CQB variant, meant for close quarters. The brass seemed to like it, we had to ship it all off about a week ago along with most of our crew," Hawkins replied, standing up.

"The invasion didn't help us either. The last of our security force was lost defending Delta Three-Three to the end. They took a bunch of those Elites with them. Still, I'm just glad you guys showed up," Thompson said, as he came down the stairs with Pvt. Williams following.

"Sir, you're going to want to see this," she stated bluntly.

Thompson cleared a viewscreen and tapped wildly at a control panel. An aerial map of the Apollo Valley flickered on, surrounded on one side by small light particles and randomly ascending numbers. The ruins of Three-Three stood out among the moving sea of light particles.

"The dots, what are they?" Jones asked, putting his hand to his chin.

"Individual ground soldiers," Thompson coughed. "We're talking nearly a thousand."

"Sir, should I go raise the squad?" Williams asked nervously.

"Yea, but we're going to need more than that. Hawkins, open the stocks. Whatever big guns you have, we're taking them outside," Jones ordered.

Hawkins replied, "Lucky for you, it's our going out of business sale. Everything must go."

"Sir, more dropships flying in low. You see them?" Evans called out, scanning the valley's crescent from the roof of the main bunker.

Staff Sergeant Macy shrugged as he sat down next to him and relayed a couple hand singles to Corporal Parsons who had positioned himself on top of the southwest bunker. Jones had purposely left the third bunker, to the northeast of the central bunker unmanned; it would be of no use. The enemy had massed only in the south, back the way they had came, and the squad needed every available hand at their disposal.

"Roger that. Williams, Waters, how are those turrets coming? I want them fully strung, leave no rounds behind," Jones called out, scanning their makeshift defences.

The complex itself was fairly rudimentary. Three bunkers all lined up in an ascending diagonal pattern like Orion's belt, with the large main bunker in the centre. From there, the complex was circular with concrete barriers stretching out in an arc from the farthest two bunkers on each side. It was an oval shaped complex, surrounded by barriers and sand-bags that offered little in the way of overhead cover. Jones had had the rooftops fortified and positioned snipers on two but they'd need more. At least they had a few tricks up their sleeves.

"Fox, I need those wired ASAP. If those bastards break our ranks they'll be getting a mouthful of C-12 for their troubles. When you're done here, rig the bunkers. We're going to need to be able blow this place at any moment, data transfer or not," Jones shouted, counting off dropships in the distance.

"Sir, trip mines laid in five metre intervals for fifteen metres on all sides. The closer they get to our barriers, the more explosive it'll be. I'm out of trip mines though," O'Brian called out.

"Good. Dawkins, those new lasers, where are they?" Jones asked.

"Two per rooftop, the rest are scattered along our southern barricade," Dawkins sounded off.

Jones backed away from their southern border and headed to the main bunker. The complex was small. Precise long-range attacks could wipe them out quickly but he was willing to bet that the Covenant wouldn't risk damaging the contents of the bunkers. On the other hand, the complex was only twenty-five metres in diameter which meant that ammo and personnel were always close-by. It would be easy to defend but would be impossible to leave. Jones didn't see any escape in their future.

Jones arrived at the main bunker and went around to the side. He grasped onto the metal ladder and hurled himself up. He grabbed Evans by the shoulder and beckoned for the binoculars. Sighting across the valley he could make out movement. The air had cleared and ironically, the sun had made an appearance. _Nice afternoon for a stand-off_, Jones thought.

"Graves, bring out the last of the ammo and get it sorted. Then I want Tremblant, Jennings, Hawkins and the techie out here. Get a move on!" Jones called out below.

It was just about time for a speech. They'd have a half of an hour before that horde was on them. They'd be ready and motivated by that time. Lieutenant Jones was sure of it. He had a good squad. He could have had a full platoon anywhere else, but on Jericho VII there was such an excess of personnel that it numerically didn't make sense. _In the end, chevrons don't win a war_, Jones thought while Graves exited the bunker, helping Jennings out with the others behind him.

"Attention!" Jones cried out. _Let the games begin_.

"Come on Kate, we're done here," Waters whispered to Private Williams.

Tom and Williams dropped their ammunition belts next to a turret. They fell in line as the motley squad assembled in front of the central bunker. The Lieutenant was perched on the bunker above them, standing like an orator in an Athenian council. He commanded their attention as the sun beat down upon them. Sweat dropped over their coarse faces.

"I am proud to have served with you today. We've gone above and beyond the call of duty and you are all to be commended for that. But that brings up an interesting question. What is our duty? If our duty is to win, then we will never fulfill it. If our duty is to each other and to those back home then we can succeed. That duty requires that we hold this complex to the last man or woman," Jones said slyly, nodding towards Dawkins. "We only need to hold on long enough for that data to be transferred. After that, it's boom-boom and bye-bye. Do you understand me?" Jones cried out at the tops of his lungs.

"Sir, yes sir!" The squad resounded in unison. Fists barred and weapons thrust in the air, they went about digging in.

"It's battle time!" Tom yelled out, excitement rushing through him. It was time for some payback.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed. The sun's rays showered them in pure heat, baking their bodies in sweat and mud. Tom lay against a barrier with Graves to his right, scanning over the plains. The enemy had been approaching, slowly and cautiously. Their numbers shrouded all hope but the squad was well beyond that now. They just wanted to kill.

"How close?" Tom asked in a near-melancholy tone, looking up to Graves.

"I'd say about eighty. We don't start shooting until thirty metres. Remember, we can't waste rounds," Graves muttered.

"There won't be any wasted rounds. There's so many of them that you're bound to hit something," said Williams, looking down to her left at the outstretched Waters.

Jones called out from somewhere along the barricade, "Fifty and counting. On my mark you fill these bastards with everything you've got. This is for every other unlucky son-of-a-bitch who bought it today. We're going to make them proud."

"Forty!" Tremblant cried out from down the line in the opposite direction. He was positioned on a turret, with ammo belts draped across his back. He had helped Jennings up into a semi-kneeling position next to him, where he could rest his rifle on the barrier. Everyone would fight.

"Thirty-five!" Thompson shouted. He waved his BR55 battle rifle back and forth from the south-western bunker's rooftop. It had been awhile since he had held a weapon. It felt surprisingly good.

"It's showtime!" Jennings called out, squeezing out rounds in angst.

"Let 'em have it!" Macy called from the roof, unloading four sniper rifle rounds in succession.

"Fire at will!" Jones bellowed. He had been a little late.

"You heard the man. It's go time!" Graves said, looking down at Tom and then back at the oncoming mass of enemies. He began to empty his magazine.

Tom hurled himself up on one knee, shouldered his assault rifle and went to work. He was using short bursts to conserve ammunition. The enemy lacked any formation as they were downed in quick succession. They were playing a straight numbers game. All around him, Tom was deafened by the roar of gun turrets chaining out round after round. Four M247 machine gun turrets in succession cut through the enemy like a scythe. It made Tom's assault rifle work seem unimportant.

"Jackals, right flank!" Parsons called out from on top of the southwest bunker, spotting a small contingent of Jackals making their way through the ranks in his direction.

Jennings reached down and pulled up a fragmentation grenade. He yanked out the pin and tossed it in the air towards the shielded foes. Their bodies scattered and flew through the air. The force of the explosion had brought up cascade of dirt as well. "Got 'em," he cried, as he looked behind him at Parsons, smiling and waving a thumbs-up.

"Mostly Grunts so far. Where are the real threats?" Williams asked. She looked to Tom for the answer.

"It's a war of attrition. They want our rounds, not us. Damn," sighed Tom. He kept firing anyway. A trio of unlucky Grunts were picked up by his bursts and then dropped like rocks.

Jones looked down the line, then turned around and sat, resting himself against the barrier. He looked past the central bunker, nothing. Nothing was _good_. It meant that the enemy didn't have them surrounded. He looked up to Dawkins who was unloading a clip in automatic fashion like a pure bred killing machine. Grunts dropped at the sight of sixty-rounds of pain.

"They're pulling back already and we've only just started," Dawkins sighed.

"They're playing with us," Jones replied. He got up and put his hand to his ear and queued his COM. "Evans, Parsons, Macy, d'you read me?" He waited for a reply. "Pick your targets wisely. I want anything that looks like an officer dead in the retreat."

Jones watched as this wave of lowly Grunts and Jackals broke ranks and ran back across the plains. It was almost comical. Their stubby legs carried them at laughable speeds as they fell over each other. The mass of nearly a thousand had lost probably three-hundred in a short span. Not enough to call off the attack. It was a ploy. Either the Grunts lacked courage or their commanders wanted to know just what sort of resistance was waiting for them. It could be both. Either way, they'd be back.

"O'Brian, Hawkins, Fox, Tremblant. Sound down the big guns. Those turrets are our lifelines," Jones said. He keyed in a squad-wide COM, his voice ringing in everyone's ear. "That was just sparring practice; hardly enough to be called round one. Either way, round two's the knockout round."


	7. Chapter VII

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Chapter VII: "Rest in Pieces"**

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/11/2535 1430 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**ONI Research and Maintenance Facility, Apollo Valley**

"Put your backs into it!" yelled Jones. His voice seemed distant over the constant cry of tungsten and lead.

"Shriekers!" Graves shouted in return. Five Banshees appeared over the horizon, black against the yawning sun.

Chaos reigned true for the squad. Round after round and shell after shell were fired into the oncoming mob but it wasn't enough. The mass had only grown bigger; it had recuperated its losses and come back with an even larger force. Small, magenta T-shaped hovercrafts, Ghosts as they were called, strafed side to side from behind the ranks. They shot razor-like salvos of condensed plasma at the barriers, slowly cutting away at the bunker's defences.

The Covenant ranks had made progress too. They were well within twenty metres of the barricades when their air support made its daunting entrance. Two Banshees broke off from the main force and swooped low, riding just above the ranks. The craft spread like a pair of eagles, fighting to get to their prey first. The fliers glowed a faint green along their lateral lines and within an instant, both released from their path and pulled up, letting fly with two large salvos of viridian fuel rod blasts.

The stray rods came down heavy on the top of the south-western bunker. They impacted in unison in front of Corporal Parsons, scalding the large man and tossing him into the air. Like a rag doll, he came down hard a few metres from the bunker. Dead.

Thompson had been thrown off the roof as well. He crawled along the base of the bunker, his senses fading. His vision had blurred and the constant rattle of gunfire had deafened him. The technician closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and collapsed.

"Damn it! O'Brian, check them! And someone knock those sons-of-bitches back the way they came!" cried Jones into his COM. He smacked a new clip into his assault rifle in frustration and unloaded burst after burst into the hobbling Grunts and wily Jackals making their approach.

"Sir, Covenant knocking down the door in three…two…one!" Tremblant keyed into the COM.

Fifteen metres out from the edge of the Marine stronghold, explosions ran rampant. Trip mines, concealed in the soil, exploded into a domino effect. The mines exploded up from the soil, like fiery fountains. One after another, the shrapnel and force of the small devices chopped down scores of Covenant ground forces.

Tom saw the destruction and smirked. A green bolt passed by his head. He went unscathed. Like a robot he emptied a clip, slapped in a new one, and continued to fire. There was nothing personal in this type of warfare. No more bayonets, no more style, just straight shooting. Tom smirked again.

"No time to smile princess, take one of these" said Williams, lifting a fragmentation grenade from her bandolier and handing it to him.

One after the other, they pulled their pins and tossed the grenades into the fray. They were rewarded by two similar explosions, unleashing devastation in canon. Chunks of flesh and armour resounded back in their direction as Tom grabbed for his assault rifle. He met with something else instead.

"We need to take those fliers out. Use this," Lance Corporal Tremblant had handed him one of the new lasers. "Sight and fire. It's pretty simple," coughed Tremblant as he scampered off down the line.

"Lucky bastard. I was kind of hoping I'd get the honour," laughed Graves, a few feet away, picking off enemies rhythmically with his newly acquired battle rifle.

Tom got to one knee and shouldered his big green new friend. He held down the charge and sighted one of the Banshees, making a small turn and coming back their way. Three seconds passed and then a crimson laser beam sped across the skyline and sliced the flier in two. Its mangled remains fell loosely into the ranks.

Two more were felled by his comrades before Tom sighted the other two fliers. They were making a run at Macy, Evans and Fox on the main bunker. They were going to do what they did to Parsons and Thompson. _Not if he could help it_. He queued up his COM, tracking one of the mantis-like craft. "Evans, eyes up!" He yelled as he launched one crimson pulse through the air, smashing one of the fliers into oblivion. Evans replied by downing the other with a quick slash of his laser.

"Parsons is dead. Thompson's coming around though," O'Brian called out globally on the COM.

"Good, get him back into the game. Everyone, hold your fire, rest and reload. Party in four," Jones coughed back to the squad.

Four seconds passed and then there were more detonations. Ten metres out from the wall of barriers, the mines on the southern flank went out in a furious roar. This time a few of the Ghosts got caught in the blast. Tearing the speedy craft apart along with their pilots, shards of metallic alloy scratched wildly through their comrades. Another rank fell as the horde continued on despite their fear.

Lieutenant Jones could make out a few of the veterans in the mass. He queued up his snipers and said, "Elites, a few ranks deep. Take them down."

Confirmation came from the rectangular main bunker's rooftop, where Macy and Evans had set themselves up. Their sniper rounds sped through the ranks, taking out multiple foes at once. Even the shielded elites weren't much against the gas-powered high calibre sniper fire.

Gordon Fox left his post and began to slide down the ladder from the main bunker's roof. He had to relay a message to the Lieutenant. _They had company_. The Corporal jumped down the last few rungs of the ladder and turned. He nodded to O'Brian who was tending to Thompson and then rushed out and across the encampment towards the Lieutenant.

"Sir, we've got company on the northern flank. I spotted them while up top," Fox grabbed the Lieutenant and turned him around. He pointed out past the main bunker and behind their farthest barricades. Outside of their firebase waited a contingent of Marines. Jones relieved Fox and he returned to his post.

Fox ran back around the bunker and made for the ladder. A plasma grenade went off behind him and the force of the blow knocked his helmet off. He shrugged himself up and started on the ladder. As he turned, a single bolt, fresh from the cannons of a Ghost impacted on the back of his head. Excruciating pain ran down the man's stocky frame and spine. He dropped from the ladder lifelessly. The bolt had burned clear through his skull.

O'Brian fell back in shock, dropping Thompson as well. Thompson recovered first. He helped O'Brian up instead.

Jones swore to himself as O'Brian reported the loss. He then signalled for Hawkins to come with him. Hawkins sprinted down the barricades towards the Lieutenant. Together they made their way towards the unguarded rear of the encampment.

Jones called out to the platoon stationed just outside of the lines of trip mines around the rear of their barrier wall. "Hold on, we'll deactivate them!" Jones cried out, and then looked to Hawkins. "Get it done."

Hawkins ran into the main bunker and demagnetized the mines from a console. With the mines shut off, the Marines could safely pass the perimeter. Hawkins returned to the barricades only to see that in a mere period of minutes, the Covenant had gotten within metres of the barriers. He filled his arms with shotguns from a stockpile on the ground and tossed them out to the defending Marines on the barriers.

"L-Tee, those bastards are close. I mean really close. We need everything back here now!" Evans roared from the top of the bunker.

The nearly thirty-Marines had safely entered the camp. Their commanding officer approached the Lieutenant. "Stacker. Sergeant Stacker, reporting. We're what's left of Three-Seven. Not much else to say," said the Sergeant, sighing.

"Three-Seven, the recruit _training_ camp? Aw shit," Jones said aloud. He looked over the recruits, his stomach turning over their young faces. Even the Sergeant had to be only twenty-five, if that. "Get your asses to the other side of this bunker and dig in."

The squad was keeping the Covenant at bay, despite how close they were. Bodies had piled up all around the barriers as the entrenched soldiers would pop up here and there, dropping off a few shotgun shells and then taking cover. Shotgun rounds were becoming scarce and the slow weapons just couldn't keep up with the number of oncoming foes.

Finally, relief had come in the form of Stacker's platoon. The additional Marines, despite their inexperience helped to shore up the squad's defences. The barriers had held true up until then and even the exhausted turrets had managed to keep the enemy suppressed. Then, a remote explosion rocked the perimeter.

Tremblant was sent hurdling backwards; he slammed head first into the southwest bunker. His spine shattered on impact, the force of the blow had been too much. Two perfectly placed plasma grenades had landed on his turret, bursting through the hardened alloy and sending him spiralling backwards.

On both sides of the turret, Jennings and Hawkins had been uprooted. Hawkins managed to get to his feet only to see two Covenant Grunts filing through the hole in the perimeter where the turret had been. Hawkins dove to the ground and scooped up a loose assault rifle. He dropped one Grunt with a quick burst but was unsuccessful with the second. The gun clicked and clanked empty as Hawkins squeezed the trigger. Angry, he rushed the smaller creature with the butt of the rifle. He beat the Grunt lifeless and went to Jennings.

"Get me out of here," Jennings gurgled. His other leg had been within the blast radius.

"Jesus, hold on." Hawkins replied, looking down at the scorched limb.

Hawkins grabbed both of Jennings arms and pulled with all his might, dragging him along the ground. Jennings screamed in pain and cursed wildly. It was the best Hawkins could do, he was exhausted. Some of the trainees rushed past Hawkins towards the hole where the Covenant had begun to break through. As Hawkins continued to haul Jennings towards the main bunker, he caught sight of Grunts, Jackals and even Elites, all climbing over the barriers. In a matter of seconds, a mere moment of disorganization, the Covenant had broken their defence.

One of Stacker's Marines took a hit to the chest just inches from Hawkins. He fell on top of the wounded Jennings, slowing them down to a halt. Hawkins dropped to the soil and pulled out his sidearm. He crawled warily to where he could reach the dead recruit. Grasping the Marine's jacket, Hawkins heaved him up and tossed him aside. He manoeuvred himself back in front of Jennings and, keeping low, continued to drag him away.

The two finally reached the bunker's door, bullets whizzing past them. Hawkins, on one knee fired rounds blindly every few seconds, pausing to key open the bunker's door. Once it was opened he pulled Jennings inside, slammed the keypad and fell inside. He sighed, rolled himself and Jennings down the steps and lay where he landed. The adrenaline wore off and the pure sweat that encompassed his body cooled off. He dropped his head to the arctic cold concrete of the bunker's floor. He felt like sleeping.

"Hawkins, damn it, reactive the blanket!" Jones screams and static mauled his ear, his rest interrupted. Lights turned on in Hawkins's brain. He scrambled up towards a console and slapped in some simple commands on a keyboard. Outside he heard a resonating explosion.

Tom fell back wildly, coughing as dirt and soil powdered the air. Bodies flew up and landed all around him. The last line of defence, the final trip mines, had been a resounding success.

The sky seemed to grey above him. The sun began to retreat one final time, leaving a warm orange hew on the horizon as charcoal filled the atmosphere. Tom caught himself before falling completely into a daze. Snapping himself up onto a knee he searched for a weapon. He had apparently been knocked back in surprise by the quick detonation. O'Brian had planted the final layer of mines a little too close.

Everything seemed distant and slightly hazy. He looked to his right to see Williams with her back to the barricade, unloading an assault rifle magazine into an approaching Elite. The Covenant had broken their ranks; things seemed to clue back in. He looked to his left to see Graves, similarly engaged in picking off a group of Jackals who had entered to the east near Dawkins and the Lieutenant.

Tom looked farther down the line, near the southwest bunker. The reinforcements were falling quickly to the invading Covenant. The new Sergeant had placed himself on top of the southwest bunker with O'Brian and Thompson. It was a good vantage point and at least Macy and Evans still held the roof of the main bunker.

Tom's eye caught a nearby downed Marine. He crouched and ran to his body. Williams had taught him a lesson; use grenades. He unhinged two frags from the dead soldier's bandolier and uncorked each. He tossed one, then the other, over the barricade. He drew his magnum as he was rewarded by two consecutive _thumps_.

Tom helped Private Williams deal with the charging Elite. He emptied a few slugs into the beast. It toppled over, adding to the carnage. Tom dropped himself next to Williams, looking to his right; he quickly eyed her and then peered over the barrier. The mines had successfully cut off the invasion force. The mob was scattered and uneven, with a percentage of the troops already over the barriers, while the rest seemed to be unsure as if to advance or run away. The last of the explosives on the southern front had been crucial. They'd come just as the main body of the force had reached well within three metres of the barriers. The attackers were both literally and figuratively in pieces.

Williams covered his back, firing down the line towards the Covenant breakthrough points. Meanwhile, Tom had requisitioned a scoped battle rifle from a dead brother in arms. He launched a few salvos towards the seemingly motionless troops out on the plains. Then, something gold caught his eye.

Among the Covenant force on the plains, a tall, ravenous Elite strode. He brandished a luminescent beryl blade. It shone majestically in the fading day's light. He was a threat.

"Kate, cover me," said Tom.

He scrambled backwards to where he assumed he had been knocked to. Among the bodies, some Covenant but mostly Marine, he searched. _Success_. Under a particularly young Marine's tattered body, lay the Galilean Nonlinear rifle, the laser.

Tom didn't have a sniper rifle. Instead, he would improvise. He lugged the tubular laser back to where he had been and checked its charge. One shot left. He was sure that he would only need one shot.

Behind him, the main bunker's door slid open. Williams watched as Jones left Dawkins side and sprinted for the door. He quickly conversed with Hawkins and accepted an oddly shaped weapon. It was short and rectangular in form, with a nozzle and a tank attached to it. A flamethrower.

"Fall back. Hold the main rooftop, but everyone else get back. Get the hell out of there," Jones closed off his communication channel.

"Tom, you heard him. We've got to go!" Williams cried desperately, grabbing his shoulder.

"Buy me a minute," Tom growled between gritted teeth.

He had shouldered the awkward laser and sighted the gold-armoured Elite. _You poor sucker_, Tom thought. He pressed down tightly on the trigger, lining up the target with his dotted sightline and charging the final shot. Gold armour signified a general. This was a commanding officer and he would not let it slip away. Tom held his breath and wished he could remember where he left his helmet. He probably lost it in the bog, during his near-death experience. Great luck, the guy firing the loudest and most experimental weapon happened to be one of the two guys _without_ a helmet. The other was the Lieutenant. Jones didn't need a helmet.

The creature moved slightly, taking a few paces and kicking a Grunt with its odd horseshoe foot. The smaller creature jumped up and waddled forward into battle, taking quick glances back at its commander. Tom's shot passed by the cowardly grunt and impacted dead-centre into the Elite's shapely chest. The force of the laser tore through any shielding the Elite had, picked it up and tossed it back twenty metres. The inanimate corpse soared above the disorganized ranks, clear to their view. They turned and ran. Even the few Elites among them knew that they'd have to regroup.

Tom dropped the laser rifle and grabbed Williams's outstretched hand. "Let's get out of here," he replied. She helped him up and, taking a quick glance backwards, he fired a few rounds from his magnum behind him. They sprinted off towards the back of the camp.

As the last of both Stacker's Marines and his own filed out, the Lieutenant lit up the front of the base with his flamethrower. He cleared out the surviving Covenant ground forces that had infiltrated their ranks. The final score of foes fell under the intensity of the flamethrower's incineration. It burned clear through their shielding, flesh, and armour, torching the vicious creatures.

Jones sighed and turned, flipping on the weapon's safety. He wasn't sure what they could do from here. Ammo was low, casualties were high and the Covenant were sure to be back. Stubborn as they were, the Covenant had some sort of honour code. They always finished their fights.

Lieutenant Jones began to walk back towards the bunker's entrance. The final day's light faded off behind him. The others came out into the open, exiting the bunker or coming from behind it. The battered crew was relieved to see that the encampment was clear once again. With the Covenant retreating, a few showed off exhausted smiles.

Jones was about to speak when a quick burst of emerald carbine bolts tore through his chest and neck. He tumbled to the ground, grabbing at his neck and gasping. A single Jackal sprinted out from behind one of the barriers, running to catch up with its retreating comrades. Dawkins sighted the vermin and dropped it with a quick snap of her battle rifle.

The Marines took quickly to the Lieutenant. He had seized up and his eyes had glazed over. The scar on his cheek was pale and his blonde hair seemed to grey just a little. O'Brian slid down and rested Jones's head against his leg. Jones head lolled back and forth as the medic put two fingers to his blood-soaked neck. No pulse. He tried Jones's wrist. Nothing. Lieutenant Jones, their leader, had been the backbone of the outfit. Tough and experienced, he had led by example. Now, he was dead.


	8. Chapter VIII

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Chapter VIII: "A Midsummer Night's Dream"**

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/11/2535 1900 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**ONI Research and Maintenance Facility, Apollo Valley**

"It's all a lie. Forget the brass, I'll be damned if I live long enough to hear them again. The Covenant was detected in the system on the tenth of February. They started their assault yesterday, notably in the eastern hemisphere where most of the population is. The brass tried to keep movement to a minimum on the western front in order to keep the Covenant in the dark about our operations. It also gave stations like this a chance to monitor our baby, the Mark VI Mjolnir Power Assault Armour – 'C' Variant, in action," said Lieutenant Hawkins, getting up from his desk.

"So, you mean to tell me that we could have been prepared for this assault but our wise leaders didn't want us to cause any commotion? That's bullshit," Sergeant Dawkins replied, looking angrily up at the ONI officer.

"I know it is. Some good it did too. Drink?" asked Hawkins sarcastically, opening a drawer in his desk.

"Only if it's Alt Burgundy," replied Macy, sitting down next to Dawkins, accompanied by Sergeant Stacker.

"It must be your lucky day; it just so happens that the Office of Naval Intelligence is fairly generous with its drinking money. Here," said Hawkins, pouring four glasses of the pungent beverage.

Macy accepted one graciously and put his nose to the glass. The dark liquor wafted through his nostrils, enticing his senses. He looked at the fine beverage and shot it back. The drink was warm but he didn't mind. It ran smoothly down his throat.

"So, Lieutenant Hawkins, what's our course of action?" Dawkins asked.

"I'm not combat personnel, one of you can sure as hell take the lead," Hawkins replied eagerly.

"Fine. _Staff_ Sergeant Macy?" asked Dawkins, slyly.

"Finish the job. We've got to finish the transfer and blow this place up. Nothing fancy. We're sticking to Jones's plan, even if he is dead," Macy replied, coughing.

A moment of silence passed between the officers before Stacker broke it. Gruffly he asked, "Why wait here? We're sitting ducks. We should make a run for it tonight, under the cover of the night."

"I already thought of that. The problem is that we've got nowhere to go. We also don't know what's out there. We can hold out for evac here better than anywhere else. I'd rather be stuck here with supplies and defences than out in the woods. Not to mention we've got much better signal strength here," Macy replied, disgruntled.

"It's your funeral," Stacker replied.

"Yours too," Macy shot back.

"Most of the data packets are away; we'll be done by midnight. In the meantime, I'm going for a smoke," Hawkins stated.

Hawkins got up and gave Thompson a nod. Thompson was checking the DefenseNet channels. Hawkins bounded up the stairs and exited the bunker. The bodies had been policed and the ammo had been collected. Floodlights had snapped alive on all the rooftops of the bunkers and along the barriers light was emitted by small white work lamps. Inside the camp there was relatively good visibility for the patrolling Marines, the half dozen of Stacker's platoon that had survived. In the umbra of the main bunker, Hawkins lit up his cigarette.

Tom sat with his head against the wall. He blinked slowly and breathed deeply. He felt worn-out. Morale was low. Everyone had liked the L-Tee. He had been their rock. Now they had nothing to lean on, not even this fortified bunker was enough to keep them standing.

Tom looked from his corner of the bunker to where the officers were conversing. He wished that the Lieutenant was there to guide them. They hardly knew Macy after all. He watched as Dawkins got up from the floor and crossed the bunker, past where O'Brian was working on Jennings' legs. Even in the piercing white fluorescent lights of the bunker, she had a stony look. She was a mysterious and beautiful enigma.

He sighed as the captivating Sergeant sat down again, across from him and next to Evans. Will always was _lucky_. She rested her head against his and took his arms around herself. Even the toughest Marines had their breaking points. Tom looked to the ceiling and sighed deeply.

Tom slowed his breathing and closed his eyes. He wanted to doze off into a deep sleep and never come back. He wanted warmth and sunshine, or a hot shower and a cool drink. He wanted to be home, wherever that had been. He remembered his childhood, his family, and his education. He had grown up in a small prairie town, gone to school and been on all the sports teams. He had been popular; he had even taken the mayor's daughter to the prom. Everyone had been jealous; she was an elegant blonde, a real head-turner. Then he enlisted and all that disappeared. It all seemed so far away now, like a chapter in a long forgotten book.

Something moved next to him. He opened his eyes and snapped his head to his right. There sat Private Williams, idly staring at him. She took off her helmet and tied her loose russet hair into a ponytail. She had a shapely face with a slightly out of proportion nose, sharp brown eyes, and a cute mouth. She was convincingly attractive. He looked across to where the Sergeant was nestled in Will's arms. Tom grinned and looked once more to the young Private. He was only just thirty; she had to have been a few years younger than him. Not to mention, she was very alluring; a strong build and a fair face. A glamorous realization dawned upon Tom.

"I don't get you Waters. Are you going to sit there grinning like an idiot, or hold me?" she asked sincerely.

Tom locked eyes with the Private. She nodded approvingly. He took her in his arms. Resting her head against his pounding chest, she shut her eyes. Tom lay back against the wall, feeling the warmth from her tender body. In an almost involuntary moment, he leaned forward and instinctively kissed her soft cheek. Eyes closed, she smiled.

"I can't believe he's actually gone. He wasn't even more than forty. I'm afraid to think of those lost years," she said.

"I know."

Tom looked around the bunker and suddenly didn't feel so alone. He rested his head back against the wall. He felt wholesome, even though the future was uncertain. Somehow, he had been completed. He never wanted to let go. Tom's gaze fell to Jennings; he'd probably never walk again, but at least he'd made it this far. Then, he looked to the doorway where Graves stood impatiently.

Graves nodded and mustered a weak, but sly grin. "I'll take your watch," he said, climbing back up the stairs.

Tom blinked back what may have been a tear and fell into the lure of sleep. He floated through memories, lost pages in his voyage up to the point. They were a jumble of darkened experiences, all flashing before his mind's eye. A single memory drifted into view.

He found himself in a video-bar. He was dancing to some unknown electronic song from the twentieth century; the colonials always had an odd choice of music. He took a seat at the bar and ordered up another shot, watching the provocative crowd of dancers, boisterous colonial girls and off-duty marines alike. He had just arrived on Jericho VII and was enjoying the last of his leave in the clubs of the utopian eastern hemisphere, sampling the finest of the colonial offerings. He looked past the crowd to the humongous viewscreen where a leather-clad and spiky-haired cyberpunk strutted back and forth, snarling and banging his platinum blond hair to the music. The lyrics floated through the music into Tom's subconscious mind. There was something homely in the pounding beat of the music and the smoky vocals. He fell into a deep slumber as a single penetrating verse echoed in his head: _I don't need a gun...I just need someone_.

Chief Technician Thompson sighed and leaned closer to Hawkins. Hawkins flipped the top off his lighter and lit up Thompson's cigarette.

"Anything?" Hawkins asked, taking in a long drag of tobacco fumes.

"Nothing; the Net is a mess. Everyone is talking at once; they're trying to evacuate the last of the colonials. The Spartans gave them hell though, we at least know that. The data doesn't lie. I'm happy to have them on our side. I wish they'd drop a couple our way, just to even the odds," replied Thompson.

"Like that'll happen. Once this data's gone, so are we. I doubt the UNSC will swoop down from the sky to pick up a lowly technician, an ONI officer, and a dozen marines. We're collateral now," said Hawkins, gazing out at the black nothingness beyond the barriers.

"That's a tough way to look at it. What do you think's out there?" asked Thompson taking a quick puff and looking out past the barriers.

"Death. Breakfast in bed is the way I see it. They're gonna serve us up-"

Thompson looked to where Hawkins had stood. Hawkins limp form floated a metre off the ground, suspended in the air by a gleaming aquamarine blade. His parabolic body slid from the double-bladed energy sword as where he had stood, an Elite appeared. It deactivated its camouflage and made what could have passed as a grin with its toothy mandibles.

Thompson yelled and dove to the ground, tackling the creature's sturdy legs and knocking it backwards. The creature rebounded quickly and slashed out at the technician, missing. Thompson yelled again, backing off warily, flashing his middle finger at the beast and sputtering madly.

Two of Stacker's Marines rounded the corner of the main bunker and rushed the Elite. The Elite skewered one with a deft slash, but the other hung back and peppered the shielded creature with assault rifle rounds. The Elite raised its head wildly and let out a blood-curdling cry. It looked menacingly from the cowering technician to the young Marine and made what seemed to be a laugh. It was a wicked laugh that echoed as the beast hopped over the barriers and disappeared back into the night.

Staff Sergeant Macy sprinted out of the bunker and looked at the scene. Two more were dead, Hawkins and another recruit. He pointed to one of the Marines and indicated for him to clean up the mess. Turning, he headed back into the bunker as a seemingly distant explosion sounded off to the northern front.

O'Brian hurried out of the bunker and almost collided with the new commanding officer. The young man approached the Sergeant, panting.

"Sir, that was the first layer of mines on the northern front. Do you know what that means?" the Private asked nervously.

"They've got us completely surrounded," Macy replied loudly. He looked around at the night watch. "They won't bother at night. They can't see the mines. They're just playing with us. Just in case though, spread yourselves out and keep a watch on all sides. Double the patrols and make sure to switch off. We can't have you falling asleep on the watch."

"Tom…Tom!" Grave hissed, shaking Tom's shoulder.

"Wha-?" Tom said groggily.

"It's your watch, mate," said Graves, laying down and wickedly smiling at Tom. "G'night."

_Damn_. Tom rubbed his eyes awkwardly, balancing Private Williams head on his muscular abs. He leaned forward and with his hand, swung her ponytail back and forth, like a child playing with a toy. He smiled and watched the silky, light auburn hair as it rose and fell and rose and fell.

"Kate, duty calls," Tom whispered gently in her ear.

She opened one eye and squinted at him. She yawned and, sitting up, stretched her arms. Her supple feminine form bolstered her drab UNSC olive fatigues. She looked at Tom and hugged him. A tight embrace, her ample bosom pressed tightly to him. She wanted to cry and to laugh at the same time. She'd thought of this moment for a long time. _Regulations be damned_. She kissed him.

The two strapped on their armour plating and tied their boots. Williams grabbed her helmet and Tom checked the safety on his battle rifle. They gave a quick nod of approval to each other and left Graves lying on the bunker's floor sound asleep.

They got outside where it had cooled off. The glacial night was completely silent. With nothing all around them, they stood in a void.

"Tom, thanks," Williams said, grabbing his shoulder and looking him in the eyes.

Tom returned her gaze. He grabbed her hand and together they climbed up onto the main bunker's roof in relief of the tired watch. Tom stared emptily out at the plains, contemplating the silence. He still hadn't let go of Williams hand, her visage loomed in his thoughts. He breathed heavily and looked at her turned back as she watched the northern flank.

He felt lucky and slightly disappointed. The feeling he had now was beautiful, touching upon all of his senses. He'd been too busy shooting, running, ogling the newly-found Dawkins, or perhaps goofing off to notice her. She'd just been another squad mate; she _still_ was another squad mate. She was another buddy; a brother in arms. But she was hot, and his. Ironically, it took a situation like this for the blinders to be removed and to see what he had been missing. More than her shapely body or her smooth face, she was tough and strong. Tom sighed. He'd come so close to losing it all today too.

"We'll make it. I know it," Tom said, cutting the silence of his thoughts. He squeezed her warm hand just a bit tighter.

"I know."

Thompson entered the southwest bunker and threw himself down into a roller chair. He haphazardly scooted to a computer and scratched at his scruffy chin. _Almost time for a shave_, he thought. He tapped away at a keyboard in frustration. No contact. He tried every channel he knew, even some he wasn't supposed to know. He didn't want to _die_ here.

He was alone in this smaller bunker. It served as a communications hub when communication was a possibility. The technician rubbed his eyes and sighed. He wasn't supposed to be on the front lines. He wasn't supposed to shoot or get shot at. He just wanted to get his service papers and be on his way.

He thumbed on a microphone, coughed and cleared his voice. He monotonously relayed their location and sat back, resting his head on the palms of his hands. The bastards had killed Hawkins. All he'd wanted was a smoke and they killed him. Thompson didn't know if he wanted to get revenge or just wanted to get as far away as possible.

The technician leaned back and closed his eyes. He was finished. No one was coming for them now. _Hell, why not one more time?_ He asked himself. This one was for Hawkins. He got a shiver down his spine as he dryly stated their situation and position once more. Thompson felt like this was the one. One last shot at freedom.

A couple minutes passed and there was no response. The Chief Technician bent over and put his face in his hands. The bunker was relaxing in its isolation. The modules hummed and chirped in tune. It was a soft and soothing lullaby. Then, it was interrupted by a burst of static from the communication console's speaker.

"Roger that. This is UNSC Frigate _Midsummer Night_. We read you, loud and clear."


	9. Chapter IX

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Chapter IX: "Return of the King"**

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/12/2535 0600 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**ONI Research and Maintenance Facility, Apollo Valley**

The sun rose calmly over the horizon, showering the yawning valley below in precious rays. The morning was clear and the sky was a tranquil blue. As if in the eye of a hurricane, the valley was motionless. Not even the chirp of some far-off bird could break the day's early silence.

"Hell of a day isn't it?" said Graves to no one in particular. Yawning, he stretched and looked out across the plains. The Covenant had dug in.

"We're completely surrounded. We're trapped like rats," Tom replied gloomily, resting his head against the sandbags.

"I've seen a lot of combat, but none this hopeless. Ah well, at least we get some cover up here. We should be able to take a few of them with us. How about her, is she alright?" asked Graves, motioning towards the sleeping figure of Private Williams.

"She'll be fine. She's tough," Tom paused, "I just don't want to see anything happen to her."

"I don't think you've got much of a choice. The way they're talking downstairs, none of us do. From what we can decipher, it's over already. The Covenant are going to glass this place and be on their merry way. The fleet got wrecked; what else is new?" Graves laughed.

"But we made contact with someone didn't we? That's got to be good for something," replied Tom, desperately.

"Yes it is. False hope is all it's good for. We haven't reached them since. For all we know, their ship's been blasted into small particles. Particles, which I might add, cannot save our sorry asses," Graves stated matter-of-factly.

"For all our sakes, Robert, I hope you're wrong."

"Hey, no one uses my first name and gets away with it!" Graves replied desperately.

"I know that," Tom laughed. He reached into his sack and flipped out his mug and a tin of coffee. "Luxury at its best."

He mixed the weak powder with water from his canteen. Swirling the mug around, he gulped down the groggy mess in one go.

"Positively appetizing," Grave replied.

"Look, the charges are set. Let's get the hell out of here while we still can!" yelled O'Brian.

"Stow it Marine," Stacker shouted back. "This is Macy's call."

"We're damned either way. We can't hold out forever, but we also don't have anywhere to run. We hold until we get further contact. Give it two hours. Anything more than that and we try to make a run, guns blazing. Thompson, show me the schematics of this bunker and O'Brian, fall in line and rally the troops," Macy replied confidently.

"Showtime!" Thompson said, bringing up a map onto the bunker's central view screen. "Feast your eyes on our ticket to freedom."

"Where does this tunnel come up?" Macy asked, pointing on the map to a flashing extension of the bunker.

"That's the only problem I see. It comes up right in the middle of the enemy. It's concealed in the valley's ridge. Covered in dirt and grass, it looks and feels just like the real thing," Thompson responded eagerly.

"Even if we open it up, we still need to fight our way out," Macy said.

"The explosives, how do we detonate them?" Dawkins interrupted.

"Remotely and damn it, we'd be caught in the blast in the tunnel. We're going to want to get a lot of space between us and this valley when it blows, which brings up a real problem - the reliability of the remote. We can't do proximity or timing, there's no telling what might happen," said Macy.

"Sir, they're beginning the assault!" Evans cried out from the bunker's entrance.

"I'll remain open for suggestions. In the meantime, get up there and hold the line. Stacker, Dawkins, and O'Brian you're on me, Thompson, watch the communications array," ordered Macy.

"It's about goddamn time we kicked some ass," Stacker said, shouldering his battle rifle.

"Fire at will. Give the bastards everything you've got!" Macy yelled. "And then some!"

Spread out in a circular formation, the Marines defended the central bunker itself. Another of Stacker's Marines had bit the dust already and they didn't have the personnel to defend the entire complex. The Marines were spread thin and fought with their backs against the wall, dropping enemies as they clambered over the barriers.

"Contact! Lots of contact to the northeast!" A recruit cried in the COM.

The final row of mines exploded in a cacophony of devastation. The explosions did little to repel the swarming Covenant force. Wave after wave of creatures, blue, grey and otherwise poured up and over the barriers as bullets rattled through the air.

"Tom, watch those Jackals. Get them before their shields are up!" Williams called out, pointing down to a pair of the bird-like creatures scrambling up onto the barrier. She let fly with a barrage of assault rifle rounds from the bunker's roof and into a mob of Grunts.

Tom sighted the duo and dropped them in succession. He caught one in the neck and pierced its windpipe. The other fell off the barrier loosely as its torso was mangled by a quick battle rifle burst.

"So much for the law of conservation," Grave laughed as he slapped a new magazine into his assault rifle.

Casings dropped inanimately to the ground, rolling down near the owner's feet. Their counterparts buzzed through the complex, homing in on whatever enemy towards which they had been directed. With the Covenant horde's size, it was impossible to miss. Every round counted, yet at the same time it made no dent.

"It's not every day you get to fight, oh say, a couple thousand of these things," said Tom.

"I'd hate to see their mothers," Williams replied.

"Keep up the fire; we don't want them firing back!" Macy called out through the COM. It was no use though. The Covenant had succeeded in overpowering the barriers. Their numbers had moved over the barriers inch by inch and had succeeded.

"Belay that! Retreat into the bunker. Waters, Graves, and Williams get the hell off the roof!" Macy called out. He backed off in retreat, shooting a couple of rounds behind him as he went.

"I feel like I've done this before. Come on, let's get out of here before déjà vu sets in," Graves said, mounting the ladder and sliding down to the hard packed dirt below.

Plasma bolts sizzled overhead as the squad broke rank and ran for the front of the bunker. Everyone scrambled to get in, and in the chaos, one of Stacker's Marines took a lone bolt to the face. He fell loosely to the ground in front of the door as the other Marines stepped over him.

"Watch your step," Grave called out behind him, bounding through the door as Thompson knelt, covering him with battle rifle fire.

Tom was near the rear of the progression. He stepped through the entrance to the sweet tune of Thompson's battle rifle. He turned and beckoned for Williams to get inside, but she'd have to wait as O'Brian helped Jennings slowly in. The Corporal was still in terrible shape, with little use of his legs left.

Outside, the Covenant had flooded the complex and were closing in on the central bunker. A particularly nosey Grunt led the rush to the bunker's front entrance and primed a plasma grenade. The small creature hefted the cobalt orb towards the final human running towards the door.

Tom gasped as a plasma grenade landed under Private Williams. His heart stopped beating and he froze up. He stood motionless. _They'd taken her from him_.

"Kate!" he muttered, unable to raise his voice.

Thompson dropped his rifle, rushed through the opening, and slid down onto the ground, cutting open his fatigues on the rough sun-baked soil. He scooped up the live grenade from under Williams and tossed it quickly away. In a mere second, the plasma grenade burned through his palm, charring his dark skin. He screamed in agony at the loss of his right hand.

Williams snapped to attention and grabbed Thompson by his collar. She ducked her head and dragged the screaming technician into the bunker. Tom had come around and slammed down sharply on the door's keypad. The titanium gate slid closed behind them. They were safe for now.

"The tunnel is the only way out," Thompson repeated.

"It's settled. This _deus ex machina_ is the only way in hell we're getting out of here," Macy concluded.

"What are we going to do with the explosives though?" Dawkins resounded.

"Nothing," coughed Jennings, "You don't need to worry about them. I'm staying behind."

"What?" Graves demanded.

"You heard the man. He's a goddamn hero in my books. Time to leave," Stacker replied obtrusively.

Slowly, Jennings replied. "I'd only slow you down anyway. The buggers got both my legs. Just set me up across from the doorway and hand me the remote. I'll take care of the rest; I'll make those bastards wish they'd huffed and puffed on some other pig's door."

"Marines, fall out into the tunnel. There's no time for long farewells. Jennings, your sacrifice won't be in vain," Macy said.

"I sure as hell hope not lads. I think I'd go bonkers if it was-figuratively of course." The Corporal managed a weak grin.

Tom and O'Brian helped the agonized Jennings into place. He sat upright against a cool concrete wall across from the bunker's main entrance. O'Brian tucked the remote tightly in his hand while Tom handed him his magnum.

"There's a few rounds in there. Use the last one wisely," Tom said softly. He continued to drop his sack and pulled out a package of cigarettes. He handed one to Jennings and lit it up.

Tom kicked his sack away into the corner, he wouldn't need it. It would only slow him down. He need only think about immediate survival. It had been offered to him by Jennings and now all he could offer back was a silent thanks for the Corporal's sacrifice. The Marines exited into the subsidiary tunnel.

The squad trundled briskly down the mushy path. The tunnel was slightly inundated from the weeks of straight rain. The squad didn't mind getting their boots wet with the promise of survival at the end of the tunnel. By now, so close to their escape, nothing else mattered. They ignored the aging passage with its cracked concrete walls and overgrown vegetation as they bounded down to its end. Having covered a hundred metres in mere seconds, the squad skidded to a halt to catch its breath at the foot of the exit's staircase.

"All for one and one for all!" Macy cried as he slapped his assault rifle firmly down into his free hand. "Whatever you do, keep firing and keep moving east. When you get to the top of the ridge, you're on your own."

"Now that that's settled, let's get this show on the road," said Stacker.

Tom looked over the tired squad. Their dry, mud-encrusted faces glistened dully in the morning's seeping sunlight. The sun's rays seemed unfazed by the ground above them, piercing holes in the subterranean passage and shattering it in warm hues. Tom prepared his eyes for the shock that was about to come. Along with the rest of the tired squad, he backed away from the tunnel's exit, two heavy titanium doors. He didn't want to be completely blind when he jumped up and into the fight.

"Doors open in five," O'Brian whispered, jumping back from the titanium double-door.

The squad huddled together at the edge of the stairway, weapons shouldered and ready for war. They looked to each other and then to the door as its hinges popped to life. Awaiting Macy's final instructions they all seemed to hold their breath.

"This is for Jennings, you know that?" asked Graves.

"Oorah!" The squad cried in affirmation.

"Shield your eyes and come out swinging. Charge 'em boys!" yelled Macy surging upwards and towards the awaiting doors.

The Marines rammed into the door all at once, collectively throwing the bulky entranceway open. The doors slammed down heavily on the surprised earth, bringing up clouds of dust as the Marines stumbled out and into the fray of unsuspecting Covenant troops. Dazed by the sunlight, assault rifles fired wildly at anything that seemed to move. Chaos watched over the scene, the sleeping valley once again reawakened.

Sergeant Stacker let out a hearty laugh as he passed by Tom. _Damn, he's in a hurry._ Tom was exhilarated and blinded. The fierce sunlight had still caught him off guard despite knowing that it had been coming. He kept his head low and squeezed tightly on his assault rifle's trigger. Pointing randomly around him, he just hoped to make contact.

"Tom, Tom! Come on, let's go!" Privates Williams called to him from his right.

Tom reoriented himself on her voice. If there was anything left to guide him out this hellhole, it would be her. He tagged up with her and began the uphill onslaught. Staying within a hairsbreadth of Williams, Tom paused only to dispatch any potential attackers on either side. Graves covered his back, completing the threesome.

To Tom's right he saw O'Brian, Dawkins, and Will Evans taking a similar approach. Working in three meant that they could cover all the angles and move like a cell, protected on all sides and difficult to hit. Tom couldn't help but grin as he watched Evans go to work with his bayonet on an unfortunate, but aggressive, Grunt.

The creature spurted blue blood as Will's bayonet sliced through its windpipe. Blurred by the action, Tom had to look away and continue to scan. Moving became much like breathing; it was instinctive. Tom controlled only his eyes, his gun, and his ears. He couldn't help but hear Will yell out victoriously after his successful bayonet kill.

"Bite it you scum!" Will had cried, leaving the disfigured creature behind.

Ahead of the two threesomes was the largest group, encompassing the last three recruits, Sergeants Macy and Stacker as well as Thompson, who kept his head ducked and his only good hand wrapped tightly on his submachine gun. They rode dangerously into the enemy's forefront like madmen, dropping enemies quickly without missing a step. It was all about momentum and they had it. There was no time to stop. One of the recruits was knocked off by a well-directed overcharged plasma bolt but no one tried to pick him up. He was dead on the spot anyway.

"Shit. I'm going to have to write up one hell of a report," Stacker said, only paying half of his attention to the scattered horde of enemies around him. They were too disoriented and stunned to do any real damage to the Marines. They'd struck at the right moment. The bastards must have been digging into breakfast, _whatever_ it was that they ate.

A rough, grizzly call came through the squad's COM. "Delta Three-Four, do you copy?"

"Roger. Who's this?" Macy called back, dumping a grunt with his battle rifle and moving on.

"Back from the dead, this is your Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, previously stationed at camp Delta Three-Four. I heard you boys might need a lift. Thanks to the captain of the good ship _Midsummer_ _Night_, I think I have just the solution. So get your asses up the ridge and we'll do the rest. No time for long explanations. ETA: now."

The squad scurried to the top of the ridge, ignoring the last of the enemy's fire. They mounted the valley's lip, drawn by high calibre machine gun fire, and came up in the midst of a graveyard. Countless Covenant corpses lay in a three-hundred and sixty degree pattern around a small convoy of Warthog light-reconnaissance vehicles. Their heavy turrets smoked in exhaustion. The squad's ticket had just been punched. It was time to leave.


	10. Chapter X

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Chapter X: "Never Get Out of the Boat"**

**Surface of Jericho VII **

**Lambda Serpentis System**

**02/12/2535 0830 Hours - Standard Military Time**

**Eastern Ridge, Apollo Valley**

Engines roared to life as the squad mounted their steeds. Tom filed into the passenger seat of a nearby Warthog with Graves jumping on its gun. To his right, the remainder of the squad piled into three longer Warthogs—troop transports of some type. Tom saw Evans hop up onto the gunning platform of one of the other Warthogs. They were set.

Dirt was kicked up as the eight Warthogs sprung forward. In a single-file procession, the convoy sped through the sun-soaked vistas of a seemingly reborn western hemisphere. The planet's binary suns met in unison for the first time in Tom's memory. The postcards had been misleading but it was possible that Jericho VII really was one hell of a vacation destination. The day he left would be the nicest yet.

Tom's helmet crackled with static as distances were relayed over the COM. He took a glance behind him to the Sergeant Major's transport 'Hog. The ranking officer was busy speaking to Macy. Macy seemed to be relaying something into his COM. Tom flickered through COM frequencies on the Warthog's dashboard. Bingo.

"We're out of range. It's all on you now. If we make it, the Sergeant Major will see that you get every medal in the book," said Macy through the Warthog speaker. He paused, and then added "Oh, and thanks."

The COM went silent in his ear once more. Jennings was alone again. Only death kept him company now. His nerves bit ferociously at him, his skin tingled, and his ears burned. His body seemed distant and numb. Everything around him was cold and damp. Everything was foreign.

Looking down at his mutilated legs, the Corporal sighed. He kept his right hand wrapped firmly around the detonator as he dropped Waters's magnum to the floor. With his free hand, he tossed aside Tom's cigarette and scrounged around in his pocket for his lighter and a Sweet William. He sniffed the fine pre-cut cigar. He'd been saving it. He smiled and loosely placed it on his lips. Leaning his head back and balancing it carefully, he lit it up in victory.

Jennings coughed, taking a long drag and looking down at the small detonator in his hand. The remote in his hand, no larger than his lighter, glowed a faint maroon. On its top lay a small plastic switch, beckoning for the force of an itchy thumb. One flick and it would be all over for him and the Covenant outside.

A knock came to the door, then a crash. The Covenant were becoming impatient. Jennings puffed out a rolling ball of smoke and slid his left hand down to the magnum on the floor. He pulled back the hammer and waited.

Across from the injured Corporal and up the stairs came an insistent buzz. The Covenant were slicing the door apart with plasma cutters, eager to get inside and at humanity's secrets. Too bad the data had already been wiped clean.

The heavy door crashed down and triumphant war cries echoed into the stairwell. Jennings raised his magnum and clenched his teeth against his cigar. His left arm shook slightly. He lacked the willpower to control it. Instead he focused the last of his energy on his eyes and his thumb, waiting to spring this one final trap.

A single crimson elite bounded down the stairway first. It laughed victoriously and puffed its chest up before taking fire from Jennings's outstretched magnum. The rounds didn't affect the beast, with only one of the three making contact on its shields. The other two clanked noisily against the wall and bulkhead.

The creature bounded up to the wounded Marine and grabbed him by the neck. Its tight grip caught Jennings by surprise, taking the wind out of his lungs and instead filling them with rich smoke. He wheezed and starred at the menacing creature. It bent down, looking Jennings in the eyes and bringing its face within centimetres of his own.

The Corporal looked at the foul beast with discontent. Its panting mandibles slid open and closed, baring its razor-sharp teeth. Jennings grinned and coughed up some smoke. He could feel himself choking but knew there was no escape. He couldn't breathe in, only out.

Jennings grinned slyly in a moment of genius. He took a final drag from his Sweet William, savouring the strong tobacco fumes on the back of his tongue. His mind settled, no longer racing, no longer contemplating. He exhaled and blew the potent smoke into the creature's face, spitting the cigar aside.

Enraged, the creature roared and raised its claw-like hand up in fury. The Elite was ready to strike the final blow and end Jennings right there as more aliens clambered down into the bunker, all curious to see what the humans had been hiding in this darkened hole.

Jennings raised his left arm feebly, aiming the magnum and its final round at the Elite above him. He quickly eyed the detonator and the beast whose powerful grip tightened just slightly. The experienced Corporal laughed as his memories seemed to drop off into the shadow of infinity.

With a final and resolute action, Jennings gazed sharply around the bunker at the violent Covenant horde. He looked up at the menacing Elite, smiled, and then turned the magnum on himself.

He brought the gun to his temple and squinted at his enemy. Slowly, his finger squeezed in on the trigger. Laughing, and with more enthusiasm than ever, the aged English Corporal spoke his final words before pulling the trigger: "Wankers."

His dead thumb landed heavily on the detonator.

The ground underneath them shuddered. Back behind them a raging detonation wiped the Apollo Valley clear and sent a resounding thunder ball chasing after the evacuating Marines. Jennings had succeeded.

Tom caught himself smiling. _We got the bastards_. No, _Jennings_ had gotten the bastards. He looked down between his legs and at the floor. He was gone. Only a day ago he told him about the invasion and now he was gone. Another of the squad had bit the dust. All of them, Jones and Jennings included, were gone. Tom's heart lodged itself in his throat. He gasped for air and didn't recover until Graves shouted that Banshees were inbound.

Waters checked himself and, putting his forearm to his face, he peered up into the sky to scan for the enemy fliers. Graves had already begun to unload on the squadron of bandits when the other Warthogs chimed in. The small craft blotted the sky, coming from the north and the south, pinching the convoy on both sides.

"Keep pace but break ranks. Don't stop for anything. Evac will not wait forever," the Sergeant Major called over the COM.

The 'Hogs raced each other to get to the awaiting dropships. They sped along the dried mud of the open plains, neck and neck. No one wanted to be left behind. No one wanted to get hit by the pesky Banshees. The Covenant knew the humans were retreating but they showed no mercy. There was no honour in this warfare.

"EZ is clear. I repeat EZ is clear. We've got a schedule to stick to, where the hell are you guys?" A voice cried out through the COM.

"Hold tight, we've got company of our own. We'll have to lose them first," the Sergeant Major replied. He addressed the Marines, especially the 'Hog gunners. Fate rested in their hands and their .50 calibre armour-piercing rounds.

Tom grasped the safety bar to his left and positioned himself so that he could push off the floor with his foot and get an angle on the incoming Banshees above. He raised his assault rifle with one arm and began to pepper the sky with rounds, just hoping to hit something. With the intensity of the morning light, he found himself only shooting at shadows with no real sense of depth.

Luckily, Graves's gunning made up for Tom's measly attempts to deter the incoming hawks. They were met with a torrent of machine gun fire as they descended upon their prey.

"More bandits, five-o'clock!" Macy echoed through the COM.

Together, Graves and Tom held their heads high and sighted the oncoming squadron. It was too late this time though. A second squadron had shifted down onto the convoy through the intense binary glare of the planet's suns. Plasma rained down perilously over the convoy, splashing heatedly on anything it touched.

"Stagger yourselves, we don't want to be sitting ducks," the Sergeant Major said coolly into the COM.

Immediately, the Warthogs staggered their formation. The three transports slowed to keep themselves securely tucked in the middle of the other five 'Hogs, which offered a moving perimeter to safeguard against aerial attacks. It was organized chaos trying to outrun the numerically-superior Covenant Banshees.

Tom's head jerked back violently as his driver quickly palmed the wheel to the left. In front of them a sizzling plasma bolt impacted on another Warthog's wheel. It was punctured. The vehicle stumbled before rolling end over end dangerously. It landed top-down, exposed to more fire from above.

"We've got to do something—they're still alive!" Will pleaded over the COM.

"Negative," replied the Sergeant Major.

A super-charged fuel rod crashed down in a green explosion on the bottom of the downed Warthog. The vehicle exploded upon impact. The shot had skewered the 'Hog and finished off anyone inside. Loose chunks of metal, axles, and rubber fell back to the earth as the last of the convoy sped by. There was no stopping.

Guns clattered everywhere. .50 calibre rounds sliced the sky up and down, punishing the Banshees and keeping them at bay. Only a lucky shot would be able to slow any of the Warthogs down.

A gigantic white-hot plasma mortar smashed into the ground only metres from Tom's Warthog. He ducked his head and gritted his teeth. His grip tightened on the safety bar overhead as he swallowed deeply. _Wraiths_.

"These guys are pissed!" Graves yelled out, freeing more rounds from the turret's ammo belt.

"Stay sharp, eyes on the road," Tom heard Stacker yell through the COM.

"EZ—do you copy?" The Sergeant Major asked.

"Roger. We are still secure and still ready for transport sir," a voice replied.

"Get the birds ready for a quick dust-off; the shit has hit the fan. I repeat, the shit has hit the fan," the Major stated.

"That's probably code for 'I could use a drink'," Graves laughed.

"It's true," Tom answered nonchalantly. He was much more interested in the plasma bombardments coming now from the north, south and above them, slicing at them from every side and overtop as they moved eastward.

"Hold onto your hats," the driver yelled. Tom braced himself.

The 'Hog plowed through a particularly rocky patch. The vehicle shook loosely up and down and bobbled as it went, narrowly escaping plasma fire. Its breakneck pace tore up the ground beneath it, tossing up rock and dirt all around.

On the horizon, Tom could make out a darkened shadow. It had to be the evac. They'd be there soon. The end was in sight. He put his head down and breathed deeply to the rhythm of Grave's rattling M41. _So close, yet so far_.

A sudden crack cut the air, breaking the constant beat of armour-piercing rounds and ferocious plasma blasts. The lead Warthog in the convoy went up in flames as a plasma mortar landed near its front-right tire. A blazing inferno rode over the hood and scathed through the engine, wiring, and passengers. The brakes cut and the vehicle was crushed like a can as it was tossed up and came down hard.

Tom's driver winced as he pushed ever harder on the accelerator. Even the rescuers needed rescuing now. He was focused solely on depressing as much weight as he could on the gas and moving straight for the rapidly growing hovering Pelican dropships in the distance. Tom could make out their black oblong shapes and their stunted wings perfectly now. They were close. Tom was thankful for that.

"Almost there, jump out and move once within twenty metres," the Sergeant Major called, just as another mortar came down near the convoy.

A couple of Banshees broke off from the others. Rather than circling like vultures, these fliers came in and down on the convoy. The craft moved with purpose and bloodlust, harpooning at one of the transport Warthogs. They released a salvo of piercing blue plasma on the passenger and driver of the 'Hog.

The vehicle kept rolling and decelerating as the driver's limp body fell dully out of the Warthog. The passenger lay slumped over with his head on the dashboard, dead. In the transport's roll cage, Thompson and O'Brian ducked and covered their heads while Williams shouted angrily at the sky and shot off loose rounds.

The two fliers paid the price for their daring as they were ripped apart by a constant spray of machine gun fire. The Warthog gunners dealt retribution for their fallen comrades with the 'Hogs skidding to a stop within range of the dropships.

"Covering fire!" Stacker yelled from one of the transports.

"Graves, let's move!" Tom shouted, bounding out of the passenger seat, rolling and getting himself upright a metre away.

The race was on.

"Move, move, move!" Macy called through the COM.

The Banshees above focused their attacks, now all barrelling down on the scattered Marines. Their sharp plasma bolts whizzed in and out, slicing at the ground, flesh, and vehicles below. They struck down at their prey in fierce retribution for the thousands of comrades killed in the valley.

The driver-less transport 'Hog kept rolling dangerously. At its rate, it would pass the Pelicans without stopping. Williams came to this realization and, grabbing Thompson and O'Brian, hurled out of the roll cage as the careening vehicle slid by the evac. They landed within metres of the awaiting dropships and threw themselves inside. Safe.

Tom stumbled as a plasma mortar from a far off Wraith tank shook the ground behind him. The blast tossed up twisted metal and rubber from a Warthog. He placed a palm to the ground to steady himself and tossed aside his assault rifle. He focused squarely on the Pelican ahead of him. Ahead he saw members of his squad—O'Brian, Thompson and Williams—all file into that very Pelican. He kept his head down and ran with wind breezing by his ears, biting at him.

Behind him was much the same. Graves followed in Tom's wake, stopping only to fire rounds blindly off above and behind him. His meagre efforts at covering fire were futile, but the Pelicans had brought some light turrets to help. Their work offered Graves enough hope to abandon his attempts at deterring the attacking Banshees and focus on the gaping entrance to the Pelican in front of him.

Still further back, the last of the Marines rushed to the safety of one of the two dropships. The evacuation team hurdled left towards the other Pelican, knowing that there was no time to fight over seats should they all pile into the same one. The Sergeant Major, Macy, Dawkins, Stacker and a recruit veered off to the opposite Pelican, sensing an incoming danger.

Tom was within mere centimetres from the yawning bay of the dropship, passing an abandoned turret. His arms reached out to touch the glory of survival. Kate met his grasp, grappling both of his arms and bracing herself to pull him inside. But it wouldn't be. To his left the other Pelican burst into shrapnel and embers, a luminescent mortar slamming down onto the hovering dropship.

Tom lost his footing and was tossed aside along with the nearby turret. He cried out as his hands flew from Kate's grasp. He landed metres away, his spine tingling and his head aching. He tried to raise himself up, to continue on, but found himself in a daze. He was confused, everything was hazy. He stumbled and fell to his knees, partially blinded. Screaming in agony at his loss of direction, he scrambled to right himself. Hand-over-hand he crawled towards the shaken Pelican, light smoke billowing over its side.

"We've got to go, NOW!" Macy shouted, slamming himself down into a seat and strapping in.

Dawkins grabbed him by the scuff of his fatigues and stared him down. She looked accusingly at the Staff Sergeant and all around the Pelican. She gritted her teeth.

"Where's Evans?"

"What? I don't know! He was behind me!" Macy called out, but it was too late.

Graves, Williams, and Dawkins rushed out from the bay of the Pelican, weapons shouldered. They each had their objectives.

Williams and Graves rushed to the crawling Waters. His uniform was sliced at the elbows and blood oozed out. He fought through the pain, inching towards the Pelican's doors. They knelt down and picked the disoriented Marine up.

"Let's go," Williams whispered in his ear.

"I can do it myself," Tom replied, snapping back to life.

The three did what they had been doing for the last day and ran. They ran for the Pelican with not a glance behind them. No amount of aerial fire could deter them as together they bounded through the dropship's bay and landed inside. They slid into seats near each other, strapped in and dropped their heads.

"Let's get out of here!" Stacker called out from the back of the transport bay.

"Dawkins is still out there. We're not going anywhere Sergeant!" O'Brian said angrily, getting up from his seating and staring down the fiery Sergeant.

Dawkins raced through the carnage. She fired off battle rifle bursts instinctively as she moved sharply around the wreckage. She scanned from side to side and up and down quickly and precisely, dodging incoming plasma as she went. Far to her left another plasma mortar caused the earth to quake. She shrugged it off, moving farther back through the destroyed and abandoned convoy.

She found him. Evans lay awkwardly, sprawled out with his legs concealed under an overturned Warthog. The vehicle was mangled. The driver and gunner were clearly dead, their necks broken likely in multiple places. The vehicle was on fire and in danger of rapid ignition. Will showed little signs of movement.

Dawkins knelt by him and checked his pulse. He was fine. In fact, with her touch, he had started to move. He mouthed weakly the word 'help' to her as she began to drag him by his arms out from under the 'Hog. He cried out as she loosed him from under the heavy vehicle. Where he had been, blood had pooled up.

She looked down in horror at his knees; everything below them had been severed. She couldn't leave him in this state. She'd have to drag him. She hefted him up as far as she could on her back and pulled with all her strength. She forced herself forward and back the way she came.

"Look! Out there, it's Dawkins—and Evans!" Graves yelled, unstrapping himself and standing up.

"Cover her!" The Sergeant Major called out. He knelt and fired assault rifle rounds into the sky.

"Evans is hurt! I'm on it!" Graves cried, stepping forward.

Thompson got up and pushed Graves back down. "Don't worry about it. I've got this one."

The technician sprinted out with no weapon. He hurried to Dawkins and, together, they put Evans between them. They held him up by his shoulders now, his severed legs no longer scraping along the ground. Thompson gritted his teeth as he flexed his charred hand.

The trio made it back to the Pelican fine with ample fire coming from the squad inside. The circling Banshees had backed off slightly, uncertain of what action to take. The Pelican rose up immediately, before the threesome had even sat down. It was good timing too; a plasma mortar landed down right where the dropship had been.

Everyone strapped in, moaning and wheezing, as they took off from the carnage and destruction below. The evacuation zone was a mess with a downed Pelican billowing heavy black smoke and other vehicles scattered and burning away.

"We're not out of this yet!" O'Brian called out, "Look, the Banshees are coming around!"

The Sergeant Major stood up and slapped his palm down on a steel lever by the bay door. He pulled it tightly outwards and down. The dropship's bay closed.

"I feel much better now that we've got some Titanium-A between us and them," Graves laughed.

No one said anything. Tom simply dismissed the joke and hung his head. He sighed and closed his eyes. He clenched his jaw as the Pelican rocked gently back and forth, jarring every now and then from what was most likely the last of the Banshee fire. They'd be too high for the Covenant aerial attacks soon enough.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard. We had a bit of a problem back there, sorry for the delay. We're also sorry to inform you that there will be no in-flight movie," a voice echoed through the Pelican's speaker system.

A young pilot stepped into the bay from the cockpit. He had a tired look on his face. "We'll be aboard the _Night_ in less than ten minutes. The Covenant are going to glass this place and soon. You're the last boat off this rock, you know? You may not realize it, but you guys are lucky."

As the pilot returned to the cockpit, Tom reflected on the man's tired face and his words. _Lucky_. How lucky had they been? _Lucky_ had been doing nothing but drills and sitting around. At least that couldn't get you killed. They weren't lucky in the least. Brown, Connors, Parsons, Fox, Hawkins, Tremblant, Jones and now Jennings too—they were all dead. Will had certainly run his luck as well. His legs were gone and he held onto nothing but Dawkins's hand and the faith that O'Brian could stop the bleeding.

Not to mention Stacker's platoon. Tom looked around and spotted only one face from the original contingent. Only one remained of the young recruits who had tossed themselves willingly at the Covenant to defend a single piece of real-estate. Tom looked at the young Marine. He was definitely not legal recruitment age. The young soldier's face was dried with dirt and blood trickled from his lip. Tom looked to the name on his tattered uniform, _Dubbo_. Maybe this recruit was lucky after all; the others certainly hadn't been.

He looked to his friend Graves, who simply smiled at him. The rest of the bay was lifeless. Everyone counted their blessings, or had already fallen asleep. Thompson sat flexing his hand while Macy and Stacker simply sat motionless. The bay was filled with an intense silence. Only a slight ruffle from O'Brian disrupted it. Everyone and everything had been spent to defend that bunker and to survive.

"I'm proud of all of you," the Sergeant Major said tiredly.

The squad, or those of it still awake, simply responded with a silent recognition. No medal would bring back the dead. Not even the hot showers or the mess hall of the awaiting frigate would erase the Jericho VII conflict from their memories. What they had done and what they had lost would be with them forever.

With that, Tom leaned back, resting his head. He was cold and drifted in and out of darkness, hardly feeling the crunch of Jericho's atmosphere. His thoughts strayed lightly from the scenes of the last day: a grey mess hall, a cook, a bog, Delta Three-Three, the bunker, and Jennings.

Tom opened his eyes slightly and looked to Kate. He slid his hand into hers and closed his eyes again. She held it closely. He was home again. He was leaving this planet—once vibrant and full of life—now completely void. His stay had been ruined not by the weather but by the Covenant. He had had to rely on his squad mates and his instincts to pull him through. There had been no chance involved.

_Home_. There word was odd. Any home seemed foreign with so many of his comrades gone. They had been home. Now they were left behind, only to be turned to ash by the Covenant and their orbiting cruisers. Tom wondered just how many had died defending Jericho VII. Their fight would be over; they would have no more battles. For Private First Class Tom Waters and everyone else in the Pelican, all of humanity in fact, the bloody war waged on. Tom hadn't been _lucky_, he had simply survived.


	11. Epilogue

_Dig In: The Jericho VII Conflict by Papa John_

**Epilogue**

_Excerpt from Eric Nylund's _Fall of Reach_; Page 8._

The view screens showed stars and Jericho VII's four silver moons. At extreme range, a small constellation of stars drifted closer.

The Captain waved the Chief closer as he stared at the cluster of stars—the rest of the battlegroup. "It's happening again."

"Request permission to remain on the bridge, sir," the Chief said. "I… want to see it this time, sir."

The Captain hung his head, looking weary. He glanced at the Master Chief with haunted eyes. "Very well, Chief. After all you've been through to save Jericho Seven, we owe you that. We're only thirty million kilometers out-system, though, not half as far as I'd like to be." He turned to the NAV Officer. "Bearing one two zero. Prepare our exit vector."

He turned to face the Chief. "We'll stay to watch…but if those bastards so much as twitch in our direction, we're jumping the hell out of here."

"Understood, sir. Thank you."

_Resolute_'s engines rumbled and the ship moved off.

Three dozen Covenant ships—big ones, destroyers and cruisers—winked into view in the system. They were sleek, looking more like sharks than starcraft. Their lateral lines brightened with plasma—then discharged and rained fire down upon Jericho VII.

The Chief watched for an hour and didn't move a muscle.

The planet's lakes, rivers, and oceans vaporized. By tomorrow, the atmosphere would boil away, too. Fields and forests were glassy smooth and glowing red-hot in patches.

Where there had once been a paradise, only hell remained.

…


End file.
